Due North
by Raissi
Summary: AU set after the CDC incident. Rick and his group of survivors decide to follow the radio transmission of another group of survivors. Are they walking right into the Governor's trap? Better summary inside. Daryl/OC.
1. The Road to Hope Part 1

**Author's Notes: If anyone has read my other two fics, you know they were/are about my OC(s). While I have OC(s) in this fic, my intention is to keep the story more about the characters we love from the show. I also am starting it with an end in mind. This one is set in a AU picking up generally where season 1 left off and does not follow the show. Also, Ed is still alive for now. Like any geek, I've got my zombie survival plan. I thought it might be fun to play with some of the ideas from it while pitting our guys against the Governor.**

**I decided to break my introductory chapter into two parts. Mainly so I could post the first one and see if there as even any interest for me to continue. So please read and review! Let me know if I should bother with this or not.**

**Oh, and fear not Daryl fans, we will see much more of him in future chapters. Promise ;)**

**Italics = flashbacks.**

**And of course, I do not own the Walking Dead, I am just mercilessly in love with it.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Road to Hope (Part 1)**

_Dale fidgeted and adjusted the settings on the HAM Radio for the hundredth time. Any real hope of connecting with another living being had faded away, just like their dreams of salvation at the Center For Disease Control. It had been weeks since they had narrowly escaped with their lives, and in all that time they had seen no evidence that there was another living soul out there aside from themselves. Still, the old man wasn't ready to give up the fight._

_"Why do you even bother with that thing?" Shane asked, swatting away a mosquito with the back of his grubby hand._

_Shane's dark hair was slick with sweat. The sun had been beating down on them unforgivingly day after day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was at a record high. Or at least it would have been a record had anyone still been keeping track. Everyone had had enough of the heat wave and tempers were short._

_Dale frowned from under his floppy fishing hat, looking deputy Walsh up and down. His mind wasn't made up about the man yet. There was just something about him that set Dale's nerves on edge._

_"There have to be others like us still out there," Dale insisted with calculated reason. "You can't really believe we're the only group of survivors left?"_

_"Maybe we are. Maybe we're not," Shane shrugged. "What's it matter either way? Right_ _now we've got to focus," he insisted. "On us here. Now. We got to focus on survival."_

_As far as Shane was concerned, it didn't matter whether there were other survivors out there or not. All that mattered was that Lori, Carl, and himself survived. Although it was complicated since her husband had shown up back at the quarry camp. Rick was alive and well, and Lori blamed Shane for telling her that he was dead. All Shane could do was wait and bide his time, hoping that some day she'd come around._

_"Surviving?" Dale parroted back. "What about living? What about hope?"_

_"Screw hope," Shane fumed. "Man, we ain't got time for this hope and fantasizing bullshit," he vented his frustration. "Maybe instead of playing with your toys you should think about getting out there and looking for food, for water, for fuel like the rest of us."_

_"Someone needs to sit watch," Dale countered defensively. "Might as well keep an ear out. You never know when something might come through."_

_Shane shook his head. "Man, when you gonna get it. We haven't heard anything on that thing since the last emergency broadcast loop. It's been at least a month," Shane reminded him. "There isn't going to be any more transmissions. Get it through that thick skull of yours."_

_Shane turned his back to Dale and started to walk away. A crackling from the radio stopped him in his tracks._

_"Hello to anyone else left out there!" A cheery voice called over the radio waves._

_Glenn stood up. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Is that for real?"_

_"It is another beautiful sunny day here on the west coast of BC. Things seem to be_ _slowing down, we haven't seen as many of the infected up here as of late."_

_A wide grin was spreading across Dale's face as he stared in disbelief at the radio. The timing couldn't have been better. "Would it be wrong to say 'I told you so'?"_

_Shane was staring too, his jaw hanging open. There was no point in responding to Dale's question. It was all moot._

_"Guys! Guys!" Glenn called out excitedly to the rest of the group. His skinny arms were waving wildly above his head. "Dale's got something on the radio. Other survivors!"_

_Everyone rushed in to listen._

_"It's probably just another recording," Shane told them. The irritation in his voice was clearly evident. "Don't go getting your hopes up."_

_Carol wrung her hands. "It could be real, though couldn't it?"_

_"What'd the man jus' say," Ed snapped. Carol obediently shut her mouth and stood quietly as her husband chewed and spat on the ground._

_"So if you're looking for a relatively safe place to spend your late summer vacation you should consider beautiful British Columbia! Enjoy a nice day on the beach or a leisurely stroll through our deserted streets. Just don't forget to bring your sunscreen and a shotgun...," the voice broke down into laughter and the transmission ended._

_"Just some kids goofing around," Shane shrugged it off. Sure as hell seemed more likely than the alternative._

_"How are they broadcasting down here all the way from BC?" Glenn asked suspiciously. Meanwhile Rick fiddled with the control, desperately trying to get them back. The small town deputy was having little success._

_Dale rubbed his chin trying to recall something he'd read in Popular Science years before. "I think they might be bouncing it off the space station," he said tentatively, "presuming it's still up there."_

_"I can't see why it wouldn't be," Rick commented slowly. "With everything going on down here it's probably the safest place to be." Behind his words his mind was working a mile a minute trying to process what had just happened._

_"Can we do that?" Glenn asked with his eyes glued to Dale. Excitement was causing his pitch to rise. "If we could bounce our signal off the space station too, then we could talk to them, right?"_

_"I suppose it never hurts to try," Dale said with a nod._

* * *

Feet shuffled nervously across the pavement as everyone gathered together at the vehicles. They had been on the road for weeks. What had at first seemed like a good plan was now starting to show holes. It didn't help that there had been no further broadcasts from the community of survivors up in BC for eight days. Doubt and uncertainty was snaking its way into all their hearts.

Shortly after they'd decided to make the cross-continent trip to the western coast of Canada the group had reevaluated their selection of vehicles. To the greatest extent possible they had cut down on what they were taking to save on fuel. Petrol had become a much prized commodity in the new post apocalyptic market. Now north of the border they found it in even shorter supply.

What they were left with stood in front of them now. Dale's Winnebago, while a bit of a gas-guzzler was still an obvious choice. It had facilities, such as a toilet and kitchen, as well as the ability to house and transport multiple people. The station wagon also made the cut. It was better on fuel, and a good family vehicle. Daryl had refused to leave behind his brother's motorcycle, but had compromised and ditched the pickup truck. It could only carry two and no one wanted to ride with the redneck anyhow.

"Do we have everything we need?" Rick asked. His eyes flitted from person to person. There was so little of the initial enthusiasm for the trip left on their faces.

"Better hope so," Shane replied through gritted teeth. "We don't want to get caught in the middle of the Coquihalla and find out we don't have what we need."

There could not have been a truer statement. For the next 115 kilometers, roughly a little over 70 miles if they'd calculated correctly, they would be driving through the remote mountains as they made their way toward the town of Hope. There were no towns, no alternate routes, no nothing until they got there.

Shane had argued vehemently against taking the Coquihalla. He'd argued against the entire trip, to be exact. It was risky. Too risky. The areas they were traveling were remote and without much opportunity to salvage food or fuel. If they found themselves stuck, there was nowhere to retreat to. One shot. That's all they would get.

The lure of another group of survivors was too strong for some. Shane's warnings had fell on deaf ears as the rest of them had fantasized about this community that had formed to their north. There was strength in numbers, and hope in forming ties. They had to try. If there was another group of survivors out there they had to at least try. He had been outvoted, but that didn't mean Shane had to be happy about the decision.

Shane turned to Glenn, rubbing his hand through his messy hair. "Man, I dunno how we ended up so far off track," he said, his voice seething with contempt. Every chance he got Shane was finding something to gripe about.

Glenn looked around helplessly at the accusation. "How was I supposed to know they'd have no roads!" he said defensively.

"You had the map," Shane reminded him, glaring all the while.

"If you could even call that a map," Glenn muttered under his breath.

"Got something you want to say to me?" Shane spat. His voice was dripping with venom.

The young Korean man gulped. "Umm... Uh... Err...," Glenn stammered, becoming flustered. "Well maybe if I'd..." he trailed off at the sight of Shane's dark and menacing eyes.

"Chinaman's got a point," Daryl muttered.

Glenn turned to him eyes wide with surprise. Daryl Dixon was the last person he'd expected to stand up for him.

"Look!" Rick cut in. The authoritativeness of his voice brought silence among the group. "It doesn't matter how we ended up here," he cast a sympathetic and knowing glance at Glenn. "The fact of the matter is we're here now and we have to do the best with it that we can."

A few nods bobbed up and down among the others.

"To loop back the way we came and get back on track is nearly twice as far. We've all heard Shane's arguments against taking to Coquihalla to Hope, but I don't believe it is any less dangerous to go back. We all know what we went through to get here."

The trip to Meritt had been anything but pleasant. It seemed everywhere they stopped they were greeted by throngs of Walkers. Every time they found a little store or a gas station they thought they could loot for supplies they were pushed back. Always there were more Walkers than their little group could handle. Meritt had been the first place where they were actually able to gather some supplies.

"If anyone else doesn't want to do this, you need to speak up now," Rick paused and waited. There were a few quiet murmurs among the group, but no one besides Shane objected to the plan. "Okay, then let's get moving."

The Winnebago, being the biggest, clunkiest vehicle, took the lead. Dale would set the pace on the steep grades as they climbed to 1244 meters, some 4000 plus feet, into the Coquihalla pass through the Canadian Cascades. From a geographical perspective, this would be the most dangerous leg of their journey. They would be traveling through high mountain terrain where the weather could be formidable, and could change with a heart beat.

"Check your fuel," Glenn murmured under his breath from the passenger's seat.

"What was that?" Dale asked, turning towards the young man.

Glenn looked up surprised. "Oh the sign. It read: check your fuel."

"Not like we have the luxury of just stopping in at a gas station anyways."

Glenn gulped. The ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach was shared by all. Either they made it to Hope on what they had, or they all died on that highway. It was one hell of a gamble.

The incline was steady as soon as they were out of Merritt. The Coquihalla highway stretched out in front of them, always reaching upward as they plodded along. The Winnebago struggled with the constant uphill grade.

"What goes up, must come down," Dale said quietly to himself.

"Hmm?" Rick walked to the front, kneeling down between Dale and Glenn's seats.

"Oh, just thinking to myself. Once we reach the top, all this climbing we're doing, we're going to have to go back down. It's going to be hell on the brakes and I can't remember the last time I had them checked," Dale admitted bashfully from under his hat. A tiny hint of red tinged his cheeks.

"Thanks for mentioning that now," Glenn groaned, staring out the window to the pine covered hills.

Rick let out a deep sigh. This was his idea. He'd got them all into this mess. "I'm sure it will be fine. People used to drive this route every day," he said, trying to be reassuring.

"That's right," Dale agreed, however the two of them exchanged a worried glance. This wasn't exactly 'every day'. Things had changed since then.

* * *

"_Hello. Can anybody hear us?" Dale called persistently over the HAM radio._

_Shane stood back and scoffed while Rick and the others waited expectantly. It was a long shot, trying to use the international space station to boost their signal, but it was possible. So far they'd been at it an hour with no success._

_"I'm telling you, it ain't gonna work," Shane grumbled, unhappy with how much time was being wasted over a couple of kids playing a prank._

_"Anybody? Anybody at all?" Dale asked desperately._

_"Hello? Hello!" A voice came back. "Yes we hear you."_

_"Just fucking perfect," Shane muttered._

_Rick hastily took the receiver from Dale. "Hello! My name is Rick. Rick Grimes. Are you the same people who were broadcasting earlier from BC?"_

_Silence. The group waited with baited breath for a response._

_"Indeed we are!" came the cheery voice, finally._

_The survivors let out a collective sigh of relief._

_"You say you're on the western coast of British Columbia?" Rick had asked._

_"That's right."_

_"We're down in Georgia," he told them._

_"Well, I'll be damned," the voice spoke. "Howdy neighbors. How are things down there?"_

_"I'll be honest," Rick answered. "They're not good."_

_"Georgia..." the voice mused over the radio waves. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Center for Disease Control down your way? How are they managing with a cure, any word?"_

_"It is," Rick said before thinking. "Or rather it was."_

_There was a long silence. Finally the voice returned, although it was less cheery than before. "It was... What is that supposed to mean?"_

_Rick sadly relayed the story of what had happened when they had arrived at the CDC._

_"I see..."_

_"Ask him about the Walkers up there," Glenn prodded Rick._

_"Maybe there aren't as many as there are down here," Lori said hopefully._

_Rick held a finger to his lips to quiet the hushed voices circulating around their makeshift camp at the side of the road. Once everyone had settled he spoke into the radio. "How is the Walker situation up there?"_

_"The what?"_

_"Walkers," Rick repeated._

_"You mean the dead people walking around? Is that what you call them down in Georgia?"_

_"Yes. That's what I mean."_

_"Well, we got them up here too," the voice told them. "From what you tell me, according to this Dr. Jenner guy, there isn't anywhere that didn't get hit."_

_Lori cast a sharp look at her husband, urging him to hurry up in case they lost the signal._

_"Yeah, but how bad is it up there?"_

_There was a pause before the voice came back. "I guess that depends on how you define bad."_

_Rick placed the receiver down for a moment and let out a small, frustrated sigh. When he looked up Shane was shaking his head._

_"How many of them things are there? How many do you typically encounter?" Rick picked the receiver back up and tried being more specific._

_"Oh, not too many anymore," the voice said casually. "Still run into the odd one here and there but The Governor's done a great job getting things cleaned up around here."_

_"Governor?" Glenn repeated with disbelief._

_"Oh my God," Lori mouthed. "Governor, does that mean they have government?"_

_"Jesus Rick!" Shane shouted. "You can't just take the word of some random guy you hear on the radio," he warned. "Think for a second, don't you think if they still had government up in Canada that Jenner would have known about it and said something?"_

_"You guys have a Governor?" Rick asked into the radio._

_"Well, not exactly," the voice admitted. "He just likes to call himself that, but he takes good care of our little community."_

To be continued...

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**Well! Let me know what you think! Should I continue with this?**


	2. The Road to Hope Part 2

**Notes: Thank you for the feedback on my new little project. Sorry for the long break. Between going to PAX, keeping my new puppy busy and out of trouble, and work I have had little time to write.**

**Emberka-2012: No, it's not a good thing at all. They'll learn that soon enough.**

**Vomitthesoul86: Thank you for the encouragement to continue with this.**

**Leyshla Gisel: I appreciate your support for all my stories. Your reviews always make me smile.**

**Italics = flashbacks.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Road to Hope (Part 2)**

_The group of survivors got out and stood side by side inspecting the wall of vehicles in front of them. The border crossing was no more than a mass graveyard now. Human corpses and vehicles alike sat abandoned and forgotten. More had been heading north than south. The poor fools had probably had the same idea: head to the less populated areas to escape the insanity as the aptly named Wildfire outbreak spread through the cities._

_It had been a massacre when the military had rolled through. Throngs of people lay dead in their vehicles, or on the road. Some appeared to have been on the run, many appeared to have been taken unaware. Likely gunned down without warning just as Lori and Shane had witnessed the citizens of Atlanta napalmed by their own government. There was no discrimination between the living and the Walking Dead during the end days before the last shred of government fell._

_"Oh man," Glenn fidgeted nervously with the baseball cap on top of his head. Underneath his hair was slick with sweat. He could not take his eyes off of the insurmountable obstacle that stood before them._

_"Told you this was a bad idea," Shane muttered under his breath._

_Rick threw his hands up. "There are other survivors, a community," he exhaled. "What were we supposed to do, Shane? We had to try."_

_"We can still do this," Dale jumped in. The old man wasn't ready to give up hope on reconnecting with some semblance of humanity in this god-forsaken world. "We've come too far to give up now."_

_"You've got to be kidding me," Shane said, his voice edged with exasperation as he swiped a hand across his brow. "Have you looked around? This place is a death trap. There's no going on."_

_Dale's mouth hung open with disbelief. "Are you suggesting we turn back now, when we're so close?"_

_"Hell yeah, that's what I'm saying."_

_Sophia clutched to the hem of her mother's shirt as she listened to the men talk about their future. Her hair clumped together in front of her frightened eyes. It was thick with oil and dirt from many days without washing._

_"No."_

_Everyone stopped and stared. Even Daryl showed some interest, although he would not look at her word, so quiet yet firm, was unexpected from Carol. The sudden attention caused her to shrink back, especially the attention of her husband Ed._

_Shane laughed, a high pitched and almost hysterical laugh. "You got some plan you want to share with the rest of us?" he asked gesturing to the wall of cars blocking their path._

_Carol swallowed hard and shook her head. "It's just..."_

_"It's just what, Carol? It's just what?"_

_Carol glanced down at her daughter, still clutching to the hem of her shirt. Thinking of her sweet little Sophia she gathered the strength to face the men and speak her mind. A habit her husband did his best to beat out of her every chance he got._

_"This is no life. Not for the kids. Not for any of us," Carol paused, waiting before she went on. Her voice was soft, unsure. "I know it's a risk, but there's got to be something more than this out there. I don't want to see my little girl go to bed hungry for the rest of her life. I don't want to see her be afraid every moment of every day. Please, we have to try."_

_Rick nodded slowly at first, following her words, his enthusiasm growing as Carol gave her speech. "She's right," he agreed. "We've got to try. For Sophia, for Carl... As a father, I understand. We've got to take a chance at something better than this," he said, gesturing to the caravan they were living out of. His face scrunched up in disgust. "I mean, what is this even?"_

_"It's surviving," Shane responded. "I'll tell ya what man, it's survivin'."_

_Dale shook his head in disagreement. "There's got to be more to life than just surviving."_

* * *

The climb towards the summit seemed to go on forever. The unforgiving slope didn't even have the decency to be incremental. It was one long continuous incline with no breaks. Just up, up and further up for as far as the eye could see.

"Well that can't be good," Dale said to no one in particular as the Winnebago continued to struggle its way to the top.

The words alone were enough to make Rick's heart sink. "What can't?" he asked, sure that he didn't really want to know the answer.

"Pretty sure I smell radiator fluid," Dale told him. He paused and sniffed the air, inhaling the odd, sweet smell. "Yup, that's definitely radiator fluid."

This was no place to run into trouble with the vehicles. They were on open empty highway, miles from any former civilization where they would easier be able to salvage supplies. With a heavy sigh, Rick rested his aching head in his hands. It felt like there was a vice around his skull, tightening every time a problem arose or they ran into more bad news. Soon his skull would just fracture and crumple under the pressure.

"Great," Rick mumbled. "That's just what we need."

"Murphy's law," Dale said, chuckling uneasily to himself.

Glenn turned, squinting his eyes in a puzzled expression. "Murphy's law?" he repeated.

"If anything can go wrong, it will."

"Oh," Glenn gulped, returning his gaze out the window.

"Hey," Carl pointed at a sign on the side of the road ahead. "'Chain up area,' what's that?" he asked.

"It's for vehicles to stop and put chains around their tires in the winter so they can drive in the ice and snow without having an accident," Dale explained to the young boy who was unaccustomed to the cold, northern winter conditions.

Carl fidgeted anxiously for a moment. "We won't have to worry about snow though, will we mom?" he asked. "I don't think we have any chains."

Lori laughed, ruffling her son's hair. "No sweetie, we don't have to worry about that." they would be traveling high into the Canadian Cascades mountain range, but it was late summer after all.

The boy looked relieved, tension melting from his innocent face. "Good."

Dale was frowning at a thin trail of smoke snaking it's way out from under his hood. "I do think we'll need to stop though," he told them. "This big, old beast isn't going to make it to the top at this rate. She's already overheating."

Rick nodded. "Okay."

Shane jumped out of the station wagon where he was riding with Carol and her family. "The hell we stopping for?" he demanded as he stormed towards the Winnebago.

"Car trouble," Dale answered.

"Car trouble?" Shane repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Exactly what kind of car trouble are we talking about now?"

"Radiator," Dale said as he reached down and popped the hood. "Must be a leak somewhere."

"Well isn't that just great," Shane responded, shaking his head with disbelief. "Didn't I tell you this trip was a bad idea? Didn't I?"

"Only twenty times," Lori groaned.

"Well maybe if y'all had listened..."

"Look," Rick cut him off. "It doesn't matter. We're here now, there's no changing that. Let's just figure out how to fix this and be on our way."

Shane huffed and turned his back, walking away without another word.

"I think I've got some duct tape around here somewhere," Dale muttered to himself as he rummaged through the drawers inside the RV. "Ah ha!" he exclaimed, lifting a roll triumphantly above his head. "Just what I was looking for."

"You're not serious are you?" Glenn asked, looking in horror at Dale. When Dale responded with only a wide grin, the young Asian turned to Lori, "Please tell me he's not serious." Lori turned her palms face up and shrugged her shoulders. Glenn thought of all the miles still ahead of them and shuddered.

"Well that ought 'a do it," Dale asserted, returning inside the Winnebago and smacking his hands on his thighs. "But it's only a temporary fix. It's not going to hold forever," he warned.

"It's going to have to, at least until we make it to Hope," Rick stated as if saying so could simply make the vehicle cooperate and do as they needed it to do.

"This is bad. This is really bad," Glenn muttered uncomfortably.

"Oh cheer up," Dale told him. "It's not that bad. Duct tape can fix just about anything, you know."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Despite the trepidations with regard to fixing the radiator hose with duct tape, the Winnebago was working and the caravan was again on it's way toward the summit. The grade gradually decreased until it finally leveled out. They were traveling through the Coquihalla pass, some 4147 feet above sea level. It marked the point of no return, being slightly closer to continue on to Hope than to turn back to Merritt.

"Would you look at that!" Dale exclaimed, a wide smile of amazement spreading across his face.

"What?" Rick asked apprehensively, expecting more bad news.

"The way the ice and snow has cut into the landscape," Dale said. The old man pointed at a deep gouge in the landscape off to the right that was devoid of trees. "That was caused by an avalanche," he explained.

"Whoa!" Carl exclaimed, staring curiously out the window.

"Whoa is right," Lori said, her eyes also glued to the scenery outside. "That is pretty amazing, Dale."

"It's just rock," Andrea muttered from the table where she was sitting. It was the first words she'd uttered all day. The mood quickly deflated and everyone again settled into an uncomfortable silence as they hoped and prayed to make it through the mountains.

"Not again," Dale said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them all. This time it was not a thin trail of smoke snaking its way out from under the hood, but rather billowing plumes. Dale maneuvered the Winnebago into a pull out and shut the engine off.

The rest of the caravan followed Dale's lead and pulled off the highway. Daryl sidled his brother's motorcycle up next to the RV. "What we stoppin' for?"

"It's the radiator again," Dale explained. "The hose is shot."

"So? Just duct tape the damn thing an be on our way," Daryl suggested.

"Tried that already," Dale told him, shaking his head regretfully from side to side.

"It got us this far," Rick pointed out hopefully. "Can't you just throw some more on there? We're more than half way to Hope by now."

Dale scratched at his grey hair beneath the floppy hat he wore. "Wish I could," he answered honestly. "But I warned you it was just a temporary fix. That thing is beyond the capabilities of duct tape at this point. We're going to need a new hose."

"Well isn't that just great," Shane grumbled bitterly.

Everyone had gathered outside of the Winnebago by this point and were waiting for Shane to again rub it in their faces that he'd been against the idea of traveling to the west coast of British Columbia, chasing some stupid dream. He didn't.

Instead it was Carol that spoke. Her voice was shrill and fearful. "What are we going to do?"

Rick rubbed at his temples as everyone turned to him, expecting an answer. They always turned to him. "I guess we set up camp," he told them. The sun was already starting to set and it would be dark soon. "In the morning we will try and find a new hose for the RV."

Lori let out a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. "Where?" she demanded, gesturing around to the isolation surrounding them. "Tell me, just how do you plan on doing that?"

Rick had been hoping to have the night to figure that out. By delaying until morning he thought that he had had some time to work things out. Obviously he had underestimated his wife. "There are other vehicles on the highway, Lori," he said, thinking quickly. "One of them is bound to have compatible parts."

It wasn't entirely untrue. There was the odd vehicle here and there dotting the highway. To hope that one of them had the same radiator hose as the Winnebago was a bit of a stretch. Dale knew that. Daryl knew that. Neither of them said a word.

"That's wishful thinking if I ever heard it," Shane scoffed. Rick glared at his best friend. All he was trying to do was give these people some hope to get them through the night, and Shane had to go and open his big mouth.

"It's not unreasonable," Dale stepped in, trying to offset the coming panic. "Even if we can find something that is close, I think I can make it work."

"Better hope so," Shane told him, his tone scathing. "Otherwise it's one hell of a long walk."

"We'll figure something out," Rick reassured them. In the distance a wolf howled sending chills down their spines.

* * *

_Ed chewed and spat on the ground, ignoring the looks of disgust centered on him. His white wife-beater was yellowed from sweat and rode up over his pot belly. "Buncha pansies," he snorted, his eyes narrowed as he looked out over the rest of the group._

_"You wanna volunteer to go check it out?" Shane snapped back. "Be my guest," he offered, gesturing to the maze of cars littering the south-bound side of the border crossing. They had decided if there was any shred of hope of getting through it would be there._

_Ed shifted his weight, but he didn't say another word._

_Daryl sat back and revved the engine on the motorcycle that had once belonged to his brother Merle. "I'll go," he stated plainly._

_Rick turned to him, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "Daryl look, it's dangerous..."_

_"I said I'll go, didn't I?" Daryl growled impatiently. "Bike's small, ain't no one here gonna be able t' scout better 'an me."_

_Rick nodded, licking his lips. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "But Daryl, just one thing..."_

_"Wha's that?"_

_"Be careful," Rick said, offering a weak smile as the redneck pulled away from them on the motorcycle, his crossbow cocked and slung over his shoulder ready for anything._

* * *

The sun came up, spilling a gentle morning light over the mountain tops. The eastern horizon was banded in soft shades of pink. Over the shoulder of the highway tops of the pines peaked out from the dense mist that had settled in the valley below. It was like a scene out of a child's fairy tale, full of beauty and promise that the world was a good place.

Dale stood at the edge of the road, looking out over the enchanting sight. The old man smiled as he placed his hands on his hips. When he'd bought the Winnebago, this was what he'd imagined. Mountains, forests, exploring the great wilds of the world in his retirement. Of course, he'd planned to do it with his late wife, not with a band of strangers as they tried to outrun the living dead. Still it was a sight to see.

Lori rubbed groggily at her eyes with her fist. Slowly she made her way over and stood next to Dale. The two of them stood wordlessly admiring the view.

"I hope Rick is right about this," Lori confessed.

"Hmm?" Dale turned from her, shifting his attentions away from the mist-laden forest.

Lori pushed a strand of her long, dark-brown hair behind her ear. "I hope Rick made the right choice bringing us out here." She stared down the empty highway wondering how they were ever going to reach Hope, let alone make it to this mythical community they'd learned of via the radio.

"Of course he did," Dale said, his voice calm and sure.

By the time the rest of the group started to stir and mill about the sunrise had faded and most of the mist had evaporated from the forest below. The mountain tops were still a beautiful place, but they had lost that magical quality they had had earlier in the morning.

The group ate a short breakfast that involved little more than some hot tea and sharing the last two cans of peaches, which essentially provided each of them with a slice or two. Everyone's stomach rumbled, unsatisfied, but no one said anything except a thanks for what they did have. Hunger was quick becoming an all too familiar feeling that constantly gnawed at their guts.

"Where's Daryl?" Lori asked, realizing they were one member short.

Dale looked up, surprised that this was the first anyone had noticed. "He left just before sun up," he told them, having been the only other one awake at the time. "Took his crossbow and the motorcycle, said he was going to look for anything useful."

"Yeah, that white trash piece of shit probably just wanted to keep anything he finds for himself," Shane sneered, thinking back to the times at the quarry camp when Merle and Daryl would go out and Merle would horde any drugs they found.

"That 'white trash piece of shit' you're talking about has gone out day after day to bring back food for the rest of the group," Dale pointed out. "He didn't have to do that. Nothing was stopping him from cooking up those squirrels we all enjoyed out in the woods and coming back to say he didn't get anything." Shane shifted his weight uncomfortably. Dale did have a point. Still, in his head Daryl wasn't much better than his older brother.

"Speaking of searching for supplies," Rick said. "We need to get out and find a hose for this thing," he said patting the side of the Winnebago.

"Can't all go," Shane pointed out. "Someone's gotta stay and protect the women and children."

Andrea scowled across at Shane for implying that they were all helpless without the men. However, part of her knew it was true and a seed was planted in her brain. "Maybe if y'all didn't have all the guns and gave some to the rest of us," she retorted, "then we wouldn't need you to stay back and protect us."

Shane looped his thumb through one of his belt loops as he turned to face the blonde. "That might be a great idea if y'all were trained to use 'em," he sneered. "See, Rick and I, we know what we're doin'. We ain't gonna just start shootin' at anything that moves."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Then teach us. How is it a bad idea to have more people able to defend the camp?"

"Who's to say I put a gun in your hand and you don't go blowing your brains out?" Shane asked. His cold words stung and Andrea dropped the topic for the time being.

The wind whipped at Daryl's face as he roared down the highway. Up ahead he spotted a car pulled over at the side of the road. The front wheel on the driver's side was flat and the door hung precariously from one hinge. Daryl slowed the bike and approached cautiously, stopping a good distance from the vehicle.

Daryl's senses were on high alert as he stepped off of the bike. Slowly he swung the crossbow off of his back and readied it. With all the silent stealth of the hunter that he was he stalked towards the car. Through the windows he could see the heads of two corpses. The bullet holes through their temples told him they would not get up and walk again. Still he was careful as he approached.

Before opening the driver's side door, Daryl pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose. It did little to block the stench of decay when the door opened. The noxious smell was overwhelming, causing even the hardened man to turn away for a moment before returning to the grisly scene.

It wasn't just the two corpses he'd seen from the road inside the car. In the back were the frail, dead bodies of two children. One boy, about Carl's age. The other a little girl, about eight with long blond ringlets. The pink dress she wore was stained, splattered with blood and brain matter, both her own and that of her family. So far as Daryl could tell from the scene in front of him the man had shot his wife and two children before turning the gun on himself.

"Coward," Daryl muttered to himself, grabbing hold of the dead man's arm and hauling him out of the vehicle. It'd be easier to search if he didn't have to climb over the decomposing bodies to do it.

The first thing he picked up was the revolver the man had used to execute his family before killing himself. Daryl spun the cylinder open, checking inside. There were two rounds left. The dumb bastard hadn't even thought to take out any Walkers before doing himself in. Daryl shook his head, shoving the handgun into the waistband of his jeans.

As he flipped open the glove compartment, Daryl glanced up briefly at the corpse of the woman in the passenger's seat. Her face, what was left of it, was twisted into an expression of shocked horror. This hadn't been her idea. She'd probably cried and begged, as her husband tried to explain how much easier it would be. When he didn't back down, and she realized that he was in fact serious, she'd fought back screaming and flailing at him as she tried to get him to stop. Lot of good it had done, Daryl thought to himself.

In the glove compartment he found a couple of bottles of pills. There was a mostly empty bottle of Advil as well as a bottle each of Lamotrigine and Seroquel. Daryl didn't know what the last two were for, but he pocketed them anyways. Never know when they might come in useful.

Finished with the front, Daryl moved to the back seat. At the sight of the children's two dead bodies he paused, filled with a hesitation he hadn't felt about shoving the adult's bodies out of the way. The boy, so similar to Carl with his short brown hair filled him with a feeling he couldn't name. It wasn't right shooting your own kin like some sorta lame dog.

His mouth was dry as he bit his lip and reached out grasping the child's arm firmly. With a deep breath he pulled. The corpse didn't move as the rotten flesh slipped under his grasp, peeling off the limb. Daryl was left with a handful of decayed flesh, which he quickly dropped choking back the impulse to gag.

"Sunuvabitch," Daryl cursed looking down at the exposed musculoskeletal structure of the tiny arm. He pushed the fact that the corpse was once a young boy from his mind. Daryl grabbed it firmly under the arms and lifted it out of the car, dumping it callously on the pavement. On the floor of the backseat Daryl found a small first aid kit. He snatched it up tucking it under his arm as he backed out and returned to the motorcycle with his loot.

By the time that Daryl had returned from his salvaging mission, Rick and T-dog had also returned with a new hose for the Winnebago.

"Found it on another motor home that Carl remembered spotting overturned off the side of the road a ways back," Rick said, glancing proudly at his son. "I don't know how we missed it."

Daryl's gaze followed Rick's to the boy standing at the other end of the caravan with his mother. A wave of sickness swept over him as he couldn't get the image of the boy from the car out of his mind.

"The hell we waiting' for, then?" Daryl asked through gritted teeth as he turned away, the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

"Well, we weren't going to leave without you," Rick said, patting Daryl's shoulder. A deadly glare from the hunter quickly told him it was a bad idea and he removed his hand, taking a step back.

"Speak for yourself," Shane muttered under his breath.

Daryl snorted and returned to the bike as everyone shuffled back into their respective vehicles. They were back on the road to Hope. Every foot that they had climbed on the ascent to the summit they were now driving down. Somehow the grade seemed even steeper going down than it had going up.

"Eww, what's that smell?" Carl asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Burning brakes," Lori said, casting a nervous glance at her husband.

Rick rested a hand on her leg assuringly. "Don't worry hon, it'll be fine. They're just a little hot from then long decline."

"Can't breaks fail if they overheat?" Glenn asked from the passenger's seat. He glanced up from the map he'd been studying, planning their route for after Hope. Why was it that every time Rick tried to say something calming someone had to open their big mouth?

Somehow or another the second half of their journey across the Coquihalla highway went rather smoothly. Aside from the burning breaks there were no incidents. Mile after mile rolled by until finally a sign came into view. It was little more than a planed log with the letters bored out and painted white. It read: Welcome to Hope.

"We made it," Lori breathed as if she couldn't actually believe it. Her shoulders dropped into a more relaxed posture and she sighed in relief.

Rick smiled and pulled his wife and son into a hug. The Coquihalla had been a daunting leg of their journey. Hope wasn't their final destination, but it felt like a victory none the less.

As they neared the sign the three corpses laying below it started to move. Slowly one pulled itself to it's feet, staggering towards the rumble of the engines. The other two crawled behind it, digging into the hard ground with their bony, claw like hands. What was once their legs dragged behind them, nothing more than bone and sinew. The poor souls appeared to have been half eaten before they turned.

Lori gasped as her eyes fell upon the horrors. Carl let out a quiet sob and buried his face in his mother's side.

"Just drive through them," Rick instructed their driver. Dale looked at him uncertainly. "There's only three of them," Rick insisted.

With the corpses cleared the spray painted message on the cement blocks holding the Welcome sign became visible. There is no hope in Hope, claimed the hastily scrawled red lettering. Jubilance at their arrival, quickly turned to dread.

* * *

**Please review and let me know what you think. I've strayed very far from the TV show / comic with this AU story and taking an awful lot of liberties with it. I'd love to know if you do or don't like it so I can have an idea whether or not to continue with it.**

**Next chapter: Rick's group meets up with a group of survivors on the coast. Have they found what they are looking for?**


	3. Final Destination

**A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews. I wasn't sure what to expect doing an AU story like this, but so far the response seems to be positive.**

**LT-Hawaii: Thank you so much for your kind words. I always worry that I won't be able to keep them in character, so it means a lot to me to hear that.**

**Piratejessieswaby: I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**Emberka-2012: I guess we'll just have to wait and see...**

**PrintDust: The way I see it, Lori believed her husband was dead. She did nothing wrong. I haven't much cared for the direction they've been taking her through season two, however, and I'm hoping they fix that come season three and make her character a little more believable again.**

**Leyshla Gisel: Yup, THE Governor. The one and only. Of course, like everything else in this story I've taken some serious liberties and moved him and his group.**

**Italics = flashbacks**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Final Destination**

_It was quiet around the dinner table. Only the clinking of silverware and the low drone of the TV in the background could be heard as everyone dutifully ate their dinner. Mrs. Gerhart had made a lovely pork roast, drizzled with a spicy mustard sauce. It was complemented with a variety of vegetables,mashed potatoes and hot-from-the-oven dinner rolls. The meal was delicious and had been served with glasses of red wine. Afterwards they would all enjoy a slice of apple pie with vanilla ice cream._

_"Did you hear on the news?" Mr. Gerhart asked, making polite conversation._

_Jenna quickly swallowed her mouthful of food before asking, "Hear what?"_

_"About that guy who went nuts and ate the other man's face. The poor bastard wasn't even dead yet," her father spoke between forkfuls of mashed potato._

_Mrs. Gerhart gasped. "Ted, that is hardly appropriate dinner conversation!" She was clearly horrified by her husband's choice of topic._

_The man ignored his wife. "They're claiming he was high on bath salts, of all things," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It took seven bullets for the police to take him down."_

_Jenna chuckled, "And you guys keep saying Mitch and I are being paranoid."_

_In the living room the TV was on. The sound was down low and no one was paying attention to the noise that was competing with the snoring of the old, lazy Doberman who was curled up on the rug in front of the set._

_"The first case of an assault similar to the notorious bath salts attacks, has been reported on the west coast. The assault took place in the downtown core of Vancouver. The victim is said to be a homeless man, well known in the area. It took several shots to the body, and finally one to the head for police to kill the attacker. The assailant appeared to be a well-dressed young business woman. It is reported that she would not respond to police warnings."_

_"Sweetie," Jenna's mother cooed. "This is hardly the end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse that you and your husband keep talking about. It's just drugs. People do crazy things on drugs."_

_"Bath salts," Mr. Gerhart corrected, laughing and shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all._

_With a piece of pork hovering in the air on her fork, Jenna looked from one parent to the other. "Laugh now, but how do you think something like that would start?" she asked them earnestly. "I'll tell you how. With all of us sitting around a dinner table laughing at some story on the news. By the time we realize what's actually happening it'll be too late to start getting prepared."_

_Mrs. Gerhart frowned, her eyebrows deeply furrowed. "Honey, I really don't think you need to worry about things like that."_

_Her daughter's penchant for self-sufficiency bordered on pathological and had only got worse since she'd met and married Mitch Anderson. As nice as the young man was, she worried that the ex-military man's obsession with preparedness was having an ill effect on their daughter._

_Jenna shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's really just a plan for any shit-hits-the-fan scenario," she reminded them. Her and her adoptive parents didn't see eye to eye on the matter, that much wasn't new. And to be honest, at the moment, she was far more interested in her steamed carrots and broccoli than trying to convince them yet again that a major end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it type catastrophe was a real possibility._

_In the background the TV droned on. None of them were listening as the news anchor spoke. Even the dog still slept, his paw twitching as he dreamt of chasing cats._

_"A coroner's report has not yet been made public with regards to whether any drugs were found in the woman's system or not. However, there has been other recent evidence to suggest that these brutal and disturbing attacks are not actually linked to drug use, but may in fact be related to a virus. We'll have more on that later when Dr. Edwin Jenner speaks to us from the CDC outside of Atlanta."_

* * *

Hope had been a rather disheartening stop on the route for Rick and his band of survivors. As the spray-painted message had warned as they entered the city, there was no hope in Hope. Everyone was dead. The place was the same wasteland filled with the walking corpses of its former residents that they ran into with each new place they visited. They had no real reason to expect anything less. Perhaps just the name had been somewhat misleading. In the end, however, it was nothing more than a dot on the map that they passed through as they worked their way to the coast.

The final leg of their journey, one that should have taken them no more than a day, took four. It had been treacherous, especially as they passed the outskirts of Vancouver. With still no further communication from the radio, spirits were low and enthusiasm had waned. There was however, no better reason to turn around and go back, so they pushed on.

One thing that their friends on the radio had failed to mention, was that the road would come to an end. Upon reaching the derelict ferry terminal the group of survivors had nearly given up. With no bridges or back roads their destination had seemed nothing short of unreachable. After the thousands of miles they had travelled across an entire continent it had broken their hearts to reach a dead end so close to their goal.

"I thought you said this place was on the mainland?" Lori asked. She bit down hard on her lip with her head cocked to the side as she waited for her husband to answer.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, willing back the brink of a headache. "That's what they said," he insisted.

"It is on the mainland," Glenn insisted, letting the pile of maps they had acquired fall down to his lap as he focused his attention toward Lori.

"But we can't just drive there?" Lori asked incredulously.

Glenn reached up and unconsciously twisted the baseball cap on top of his head back and forth. "Apparently not." They had better maps now, far more detailed than the ones they had originally been working from, but none showed a road to where they wanted to go.

"How can they just not have a road?" Lori demanded in frustration and despair.

Daryl was situated at the outskirts of the group pacing back and forth, watching and listening as everyone discussed the predicament they found themselves in. He scoffed quietly to himself at Lori's indignation towards the lack of roads. The woman had probably never been outside of her little suburban neighborhood, he thought to himself.

Rick placed a warm hand on her shoulder, waiting for her eyes to meet his. "Maybe it's because they are so isolated that they have been able to form this relatively safe community," he offered.

Safe? Daryl thought. Ain't nowhere safe. Not now, not before the Walkers. But he didn't share his thoughts with the others. No one ever seemed interested in his input and that suited him just fine. It's not like he needed these people. It's not like he gave a damn, he reminded himself. Just didn't have no where better to go for the moment, was all. He would never admit to himself that this group of strangers was starting to feel more like a family than his own ever had.

Lori sighed, fighting back tears. She was exhausted. They all were. "What good does it do if we can't get there?"

"Maybe we can," Dale put forth hesitantly.

All eyes fell on the old man. "What are you saying?"

"We could take a boat. A barge or something that could carry the vehicles."

Daryl's ears perked up at Dale's suggestion. A lump formed in his throat. Some might of called it hope. Daryl coughed, trying to clear the uncomfortable emotion. Hope was a dangerous thing. All it ever led to was disappointment.

"Even if we were able to find a boat in working order," Rick answered skeptically, "who would be able to captain it."

"I'd be willing to give it a try," Dale offered. "I know it's not the same thing, but when I retired I bought a sail boat. I only took her out a few times before I had to sell her. Irma got terribly sea sick." As he trailed off he seemed lost in his thoughts, talking more to himself than anyone else. It wasn't often that Dale mentioned his late wife whom he'd lost to cancer some time before the Wildfire outbreak.

Rick nodded thoughtfully. "We've come this far," he reasoned. Might as well keep going.

* * *

_"Mom, dad," Jenna said, her voice forceful if not some what frantic. "You need to come with us. It's not safe here anymore."_

_"Don't be silly, sweet heart," Mrs. Gerhart, cooed, waving a hand in the air as if to brush away her daughter's concerns._

_A frustrated sigh escaped Jenna's lips. "I'm not being silly mom," she insisted. "They know now this isn't just drugs. It's a virus, and it's spreading fast."_

_Mrs. Gerhart clucked, shaking her head from side to side. "Once you're my age dear, you'll realize that you don't need to get your panties in a bunch every time the government yells disaster."_

_"But, you're not listening to me..."_

_"I am," her mother insisted. "But you need to listen to me. Every time there's a new disease everybody panics." Mrs. Gerhart counted on her fingers, "Swine Flu, Bird Flu, Mad Cow Disease, AIDS, all the way back to the black plague and we're still here aren't we?"_

_"This is different, mom."_

_"Sweet pea," her father said soothingly. "You should listen to yourself. You're sounding paranoid, just like those fear-mongering newscasters would want. Isn't that what you always called them?"_

_Jenna sighed. "Yes," it was what she called them. It's what they were. "But that doesn't mean that once in a while they can't actually be right."_

_Mr. Gerhart placed his cup of tea down on the table and clasped his hands firmly in front of himself. "Look, we're not going anywhere, Jenna, and that's final."_

* * *

"Turn right here," Glenn instructed, rotating the map he was reading as they followed the course he'd plotted.

The streets were strangely empty. Not just of Walkers, but of cars, of debris... Of anything, really. There had been a few cars back at the ferry terminal where they had docked the barge, but aside from that the roads were surprisingly clear. It was almost eerie. Perhaps the residents of the small coastal town had realized that they had nowhere to run. There was little else that made any sense.

"It would have been beautiful here," Lori commented, her eyes dreamily gazing through the side window of the Winnebago. On their left, the ocean played peak-a-boo, showing it's blue face each time they passed a side street. Across the Straight of Georgia the mountains of Vancouver Island rose towards the sky, their peaks still dotted with snow. Ahead of them and to their right more mountains and trees enveloped them.

"It still is," Dale said, grinning from under his hat. Despite all of the atrocities they had witnessed since the world had ended he had never given up his passion for life. There was always some good to be found.

"I mean, it must have been nice to live here before all of this."

Dale nodded, knowing what Lori had meant. "They had their own little slice of paradise."

"I don't know about paradise," Glenn said, taking his eyes off the map long enough to glance around at their surroundings. "I mean, what did people even do around here, like for fun?"

"There's more to life than video games, my boy," Dale chuckled.

"You know, just because I'm Korean doesn't automatically mean I played Star Craft," Glenn huffed, his eyes flicking away from the scene outside.

Dale smiled mischievously. "Did you?"

"What?"

"Play Star Trek?"

"Star Craft," Glenn groaned. "Maybe I used to play a little with my friends," he admitted, blushing slightly. "But come on man, that's not fair. Lots of people played that game."

"You're the one that brought it up," Dale reminded him. "I'd never even heard of this Star... Craft before."

"Whatever," Glenn muttered. "Can't you just drive or something?" Dale laughed and continued at a relaxed pace along the road.

As the caravan neared the center of town an uneasy silence started to brew. A singular unspoken question was on all of their minds, festering with each passing second. It was Dale who finally spoke. "So just how are we going to find this community of survivors if we can't reach them on the radio?" he asked.

Rick had been struggling with an answer to that very question for days. Each mile they traveled that brought them closer had also increased the urgency with which they needed to reach them. Yet try as they might, they had been unsuccessful at getting them on the HAM radio.

"It's a small town," Rick suggested. "Why don't we find somewhere to spend the night and in the morning we can start looking for any sign of survivors." It was the best he could offer. Truth be told, he still had no idea how they were going to find the community.

"Do you think going right into town is such a good idea?" Lori questioned. "At least until we know what to expect. For all we know that place could be over run with Walkers by now and that's why we haven't heard from them."

"She's got a good point," Shane said in agreement. They didn't know anything about this place.

"We could make camp somewhere along here?" Glenn suggested. "It seems pretty quiet."  
Rick knew they were right. "That's a good idea."

The engines had barely had time to cool before the group of survivors became aware of a noise that seemed out of place. The noise quickly grew until it became the unmistakable rumble of another vehicle in the distance. A sound once all too common that now seemed strange to their ears.

"Is that?" Glenn asked, his eyes wide with excitement. He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I think it is," Dale replied, a wide grin spreading across his face.

Lori walked to her husband's side where he was standing staring down the long stretch of road. A metallic blue jeep was headed towards them. The round headlights of the model TJ were like a light at the end of the tunnel for the travel weary group of Americans.

Daryl stepped forward. His eyes narrowed into slits as he peered down the road at the incoming vehicle. The sun glinted off it's metallic blue paint. Instead of the relief felt by the others, Daryl felt his body tense. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the jeep, he unshouldered and cocked his crossbow. Whatever was going to go down, he wanted to be ready for anything. Unlike Rick, he didn't just trust people.

"Jesus Daryl!" Dale exclaimed. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

Daryl chewed his thumbnail and spat on the ground. "Never know, ol' man."

"Much as I hate to say it, Dixon's right," Shane said, his hand hovering over his own weapon. "We don't know these people."

The jeep slowed as it approached, stopping short of Rick's group. Two people exited the vehicle. The first was a middle aged woman of average build. She had straight brown hair that reached down past her shoulders. The second was a large, burly man. Between his own scruffy dark brown hair and massive thick beard little of his rugged face was visible. He looked like a true mountain man. Both had their rifles raised and pointed at Rick's group.

"What've we got here?" The woman asked aloud. Her voice was thick with an Irish accent. The burly man with her kept his eyes trained on Shane like a hawk and shrugged without a word.

"We're friends. You can lower your weapons," Rick said, taking a step forward. His hands were up and open so that they could see he meant them no harm.

"Friends?" The woman repeated, staring down the length of Daryl's crossbow quizzically. "That why I'm getting such a warm, fuzzy feeling from yer boy then?" She asked, flicking her brown eyes towards Rick for a split second. "I mean why don't we all just join hands then an' take a lil' ride on the happy bus before this stand off goes sideways an' we all end up shot or dead. What d'ya say love, lower yer weapons would'ya?" the woman cocked her head to the side and looked Daryl in the eyes, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"I don't see that happening. Not until you lower yours," Shane snarled.

"Well, we're in a right pickle then aren't we?"

"My name's Rick. Rick Grimes. We spoke to one of your men on the radio," he explained calmly. "We've come all the way from Georgia."

"Well Rick, I'm Annie and this is Jed. There's a wee little problem with yer story however," The woman narrowed her eyes skeptically, her weapon still pointed at them. "This is the first I've heard of ya."

"It's been a while since we've been able to reach anyone," Rick admitted. "Maybe they thought we'd been bit or given up."

The woman seemed to mull over what Rick had said. "See, now that's what I mean. Nobody tells us nothing," Annie complained to her partner. Jed merely grunted in response.

Carol stuck her head out from behind the others. "They never even mentioned us?" she asked meekly.

"Ain't that what the woman jus' said?" her husband Ed asked, his lips curling up into a sneer.

Annie shook her head. "Oh we'll, no use in worrying about it now is there?" she asked in her thick Irish accent. "I'll call ahead and let 'em know we're coming. Going to need to get ya lads a ride. That tin can's not gonna make it through some of the back roads," she explained. "Don't know what yer thinkin' drivin' something like tha'," she said, gesturing towards the Winnebago with her pointed chin. "Must be a bottomless pit when it comes to petrol now, wouldn't ya say? And not the fastest, most maneuverable beast neither."

"You shouldn't insult a man's ride" Dale teased. "He might get offended, you know." He paused, patting the side of the Winnebago. "I put a lot of work into this old beast. She was going to be my retirement."

"Wouldn't want tha' now would we? ya gettin' offended I mean," Annie replied, offering Dale a lop-sided grin.

"Certainly not."

Annie laughed and lowered her weapon. Turning to her silent partner she told him, "It's alright Jed. They're friends."

Jed said nothing, but gestured with a flick of his head towards Daryl. The hunter still had his crossbow trained on the Irish woman. Every muscle in his body was taut and ready for a fight.

"Well Jesus, love, what d'ya expect?" She asked the big, burly man. "I mean, here we are. No one told us nothin' so we come out with our weapons drawn. That doesn't exactly paint a pretty picture now does it?"

Reluctantly Jed lowered his own rifle. His deep brown eyes were narrowed and remained fixed on Daryl. Rick quietly urged his own men to follow suit. He could see the muscle's in Daryl's face twitch and contort as he struggled with the thought of lowering the crossbow. Finally the redneck relented.

"See, now we're all on the happy bus, aye?" Annie beamed cheerfully.

Shane turned to his former partner, "Rick man, you can't really mean to go with some woman who uses the phrase happy bus every other sentence now can you?" he asked, his voice low and harsh. "She's clearly nuts."

"Shh," Rick hissed at him. "And yes, I can. This is what we've spent weeks working towards," he reminded his friend.

Annie was busying herself with the HAM radio mounted inside her jeep. "This is River's Wild calling Base Camp," she called into the receiver.

"Base Camp here. Read you loud and clear. Over," came the crackling response.

"That you Mitch?"

There was a long pause. "Yes, it's me," he answered, clearly irritated. "What's the point of having call signs and protocol if nobody follows them? Over."

"Aye, whatever ya stick in the mud," Annie replied, rolling her eyes at the HAM radio. "Got us some survivors here," she told him.

Again there was a long pause. "How many? Over."

Annie quickly scanned the caravan, then turned to Glenn. "You love, just how many of ya lot is there?" she asked. "Any more hidin' out in that giant tin can yer driving?" Glenn looked from one side to the other wondering who the woman was addressing. "Yes love, I'm talking t'ya lad," Annie said, staring straight at him.

"I umm...," Glenn stammered suddenly finding himself tongue-tied. "There's uh... Eleven... No twelve, yes twelve of us, I think." He gulped nervously, wishing she would focus on anyone else and stop calling him love.

"Well love, eleven or twelve, which is it? Ya ought'a know." Glenn's mouth opened and closed reflexively but no words came out. "Oh Jesus!" Annie exclaimed. "I need to stop calling complete stranger's love now don't I? I'm sorry lad. I didn't mean to fluster ya."

"There's twelve of us," Rick said firmly. Glenn breathed a sigh of relief now that he was out of the hot seat.

"Twelve," Annie repeated into the receiver. "Men, women an' children."

"Twelve?" Mitch exclaimed over the radio. "Jesus, where'd they all come from? Nevermind that right now. What do you need from me? Over."

"Was that the man you spoke to on the radio?" Lori whispered in her husband's ear.

Rick shook his head. "It doesn't sound like it. Seems like our arrival is a surprise to him too."

"I guess they never believed we'd actually make it," Glenn shrugged.

Dale grinned from under his hat. "I suppose it is a bit of a miracle after all."

Annie spoke into the receiver. "I need you to send Candy Heart out to meet us. They're traveling in this ridiculous tin can that jus' wont do on some of the roads," she explained. "And they sure as hell aren't all gonna fit in my jeep."

"Jesus!" Shane exclaimed. "River's Wild? Candy Heart?" he asked disgustedly under his breath. "What kind of call signs are those?"

"And just what would you suggest then?" Annie shot back, her sharp ears easily picking up his words.

Before Shane had a chance to answer Mitch's voice came crackling back across the radio. "Would love to do that, River's Wild, but Candy Heart is out working on the bridge. You'll have to keep trying her on the HAM. Over."

"Well ain't that jus' lovely," Annie grumbled to herself. "So team," she said, turning to Rick's group. "It appears that my plan has gone a wee bit sideways. We're going to have to drive as far as that tin can is capable. I'll keep trying our friends on the radio to get ya a ride," she explained. "Now I know that isn't exactly the grandest plan, but we can't all be too attached to one way of doing things now can we?"

"She sure rattles on doesn't she?" Glenn leaned in and whispered to Dale, who tried to suppress a grin.

"I don't know about this..." Shane resisted.

"Come on Shane, have a little faith," Rick pushed.

"Faith is one thing, Rick. Blind stupidity is another."

"If they wanted to shoot us they already had that chance," Rick reminded everyone.

"Whatever, man," Shane grumbled. "I hope I'm not left saying I told you so on this one, 'cause man, I warned you."

"It'll be fine."

Annie tapped her foot impatiently. "So, are we all on the happy bus together now or do ya two lads need a moment to talk this over?"

"We're ready to go," Rick spoke for the group. He left no room for hesitation.

* * *

_The door swung open, hanging loosely on it's hinges. It hadn't been locked. Her mother always locked the door._

_Jenna's eyes scanned the mud room. Blood streaked the tile floor. As she let her gaze move forward, she saw the sticky red liquid smeared down the wall as she made her way through the kitchen and towards the living room. So much blood._

_"Mom? Dad?" Jenna breathed seeing the two figures standing across the room._

_At the sound of her voice they both turned. Mr. And Mrs. Gerhart stood, their blank eyes staring out over where their daughter had her rifle raised. A flap of skin hung loosely from Mrs. Gerhart's forehead. Her husband's jaw was attached only from one side, and wobbled grotesquely as his mouth chomped up and down._

_A tear streaked down Jenna's face as she moved her finger over the trigger. "I wish you'd came with me. I'm so sorry." With that she squeezed the trigger, putting an end to the monstrosities that had once been her parents. It was too late to save them now._

* * *

The metallic blue jeep led Rick and his band of survivors around a small lake. The surface was thick with lily pads, their blooms already come and gone. Since the Wildfire outbreak there had been no one to dutifully wage the unwinnable war to cut them back and the weeds had completely overtaken the shallow lake.

"Pass me a beer," Ed ordered over his shoulder to Carol. His wife busied herself picking at her fingernails, pretending as if she didn't hear him. "Damn it," Ed roared, "I said pass me a God-damned beer, woman."

A small noise escaped Carol's lips as she bent down obediently to grab a can. The last case of Budweiser that sat on the floor of the back seat was nearly empty. part of her longed for the day when there were none left. Her husband would be hard pressed, lazy as he was, to find any more in the post-apocalyptic world.

Shane reached a hand out from the passenger's to steady Carol, preventing her from doing as her husband demanded. "Jesus man," he said, shaking his head. "You're driving. I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Well I didn't ask what ya thought, now did I pig? Why don'tcha mind yer own business," Ed replied angrily. With one hand on the wheel he spun around to face his wife, "Now. If ya know what's good for ya, you'll pass me one of 'em beers."

"Or what Ed?" Shane spat disgustedly from where he was sitting. "Or you'll give her another bruise? You think we don't know? Now I know the world ended and all, but if you know what's good for you, you'll just shut up and drive and you won't lay a hand on your wife or daughter again or so help me God..." Shane threatened. Ed grumbled to himself, but he didn't say another word as he continued to follow the vehicle ahead.

Once on the back side of the lily pad infested lake the jeep TJ leading them took a turn to the right. The last few houses trickled by until they found themselves surrounded by nothing but forest. Soon after the the asphalt gave way to a pot hole ridden dirt road and the light was swallowed by the thick, dense trees and bush. They were out in the wilderness.

Every now and then the density of the forest canopy would open up, letting sunlight spill in. The world would suddenly seem brighter and less constricting. Each time it happened, Rick and his group would get their hopes up that they were finally arriving at the mythical community they had been chasing. Except a lake would come into view on one side or they would come into a patch of forest that had been logged on another. Then they would once again disappear into the darkness of the thick, temperate rainforest.

"I wonder how much further these people are?" Glenn said aloud.

"I don't know, but I don't like this," Lori answered.

Rick reached over and squeezed his wife's hand. "It'll be okay. Maybe they're on to something staying so far out. Things were okay for a long time at the quarry, and that wasn't even very far from Atlanta."

Dale watched as the tail lights of Ed's station wagon ahead of them slowed. They were traveling in a line: Annie's jeep, Daryl's bike, Ed's station wagon and finally the Winnebago. The old logging roads were narrow to start with and nature was already starting to take them back. Salal, blackberries, thimbleberries and salmon berries were the first to start encroaching their way across the ditches and up from the shoulders. The road was barely accommodating the vehicles in single file. Finally the line ahead came to a stop.

"Any luck with the HAM?" Rick asked Annie as everyone gathered together on the road.

"Aye love," Annie answered. "Yer ride will be here shortly."

"We're sitting ducks here, Rick," Shane warned.

"I doubt we'll be seeing many Walkers this far from town," Rick replied calmly.

Carol wrung her hands. "I don't like it out here," she complained. The forest was too dark. Too isolated.

"I know," Lori responded emphatically. "It give's me the creeps."

Shane pulled his former partner aside. "It's not just Walkers we have to worry about, man," he said in hushed tones. "What do we really know about these people? For all we know they could be cannibals." From the look in the women's eyes it was clear that Shane's tone hadn't been hushed enough.

"We agreed on this. We all wanted this. It's one thing to be on guard, it's another to start panicking people for no good reason," Rick forced out through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice down. "The living have to band together now."

"You agreed on this," Shane corrected him. "Not me."

"You didn't have to come," Rick retorted angrily.

What? Shane thought to himself without speaking, and leave Lori and Carl? Someone needs to protect them.

When the Jeep Cherokee nicknamed Candy Heart pulled up on the other side of the washed out section of road, Rick looked at Shane as if to ask if he were coming. The two exchanged scathing looks, but Shane moved back towards Ed's station wagon without another word.

Out of the Cherokee stepped a tall woman, rail thin with long, lanky arms and legs. Her straight blond hair was pulled back in a loose pony tail. Every inch of her exposed arms and chest were covered in brightly colored tattoos. Dragons, cherry blossoms, Asian characters. T-Dog raised an eyebrow at their unlikely company.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mitch wasn't kidding!" The tattooed woman boomed in a voice that seemed too loud to come from her thin body. "I was sure that mother fucker was just messing with me, sending me on some fools errand, but here you are." She gestured widely with her arms. "Sure as shit."

"Aye Cindy, he wasn't," Annie said grinning at the new arrival.

The blond, Cindy, looked over at Rick and his group. "So, I hear y'all need a ride?" she asked, placing her hands on her bony hips.

"It would be much appreciated," Rick said in his smooth Georgian accent. The sheriff politely removed his hat and offered the woman his hand in greeting. "I'm Rick Grimes."

"Nice to meet you Rick Grimes," Cindy replied growling out his surname, but her focus had already shifted to the vehicles. She was studying them intensely as she slowly walked from one to the other, bending down and checking underneath them.

"What is she looking for?" Glenn asked quietly.

"Checking clearance," Cindy mumbled, shaking her head. "I don't know if my girl Annie mentioned it or not, but the roads into Base Camp are getting a little rough. That station wagon might make it, although I have my doubts."

Dale scratched his head under his hat, "And the other vehicles?" Cindy looked at the section of road they had to cross and back at the lineup of vehicles in disbelief.

"He means that oversized tin can and the bike," Annie offered.

"Fuck Annie, I know what he meant," Cindy growled. "But unless he's a fucking magician and plans to levitate them across, there's no way in hell they're going to make it."

"That was my brother's bike," Daryl growled. "I ain't leavin' 'er." A few surprised glances shot towards Daryl from his traveling companions. None of them had taken him for the sentimental type. Still she was all he had left of Merle's, and he just didn't feel right leaving 'er at the side of the road.

Cindy stared at the stubborn man. He was wearing a plaid work shirt with the sleeves torn off and a dirty pair of jeans. His short light brown hair was matted with grime. At least she thought it was light brown, it was hard to tell under all the dirt. He looked like a real redneck asshole, him and that Ed character both.

"Have it your way then," Cindy shrugged dismissively. "But I'm telling you, she's not coming across, so you might as well start getting comfortable."

Daryl leaned up against Merle's bike, taking the weight off his feet. His icy blue eyes narrowed into slits as he glared out of the corner of his eyes at her.

"Come now," the Irish woman stepped in. "Let's think for a moment here."

"Nothing to think about," Cindy said, her eyes locked on the angry man who was avoiding making eye contact with her. "Not going to fucking happen. I'm not a bloody miracle worker."

"We're doing road work anyways," Annie pointed out. "If we put this section on the list as a priority, when d'ya think we can get to it?" Rick's ears perked up at the mention of road work. He couldn't help but wonder if they were the one's who had cleared the roads in town. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through when they were living so far away.

"Beats me," Cindy shrugged. It'd be a cold day in hell when she went out of her way for any man.

Annie turned to Daryl who was stubbornly standing his ground. "Look here love," she said. "Leave your bike for now an' I promise we'll get 'er back t' ya soon as we can fix th' road. And heavens willing, that won't be too long. No one's gunna mess with it out 'ere, that's fer sure, anyhow," she explained. "Now, we back on the happy bus?"

Rick cocked his head to the side and looked pleadingly at Daryl. Even if he didn't like the man, they owed him more than they'd given him credit for. The hunter had kept Rick's family and the rest of the group fed while he was still in a coma at the hospital. He'd risked his life protecting the group when the quarry camp had been attacked by Walkers. He never hesitated to go ahead and scout for them. It wasn't right that he was being asked to sacrifice the only thing that meant anything to him, aside from maybe his crossbow. Yet they had to go on.

Rick's pleading eyes caught Daryl's and the redneck kicked at the packed dirt beneath his feet. "Whatever," he growled unhappily. "Let's go."

Sure enough the station wagon had trouble getting through the washout. The vehicles wheelbase was too long and there was too much sticking out in front of the front wheels that the nose hit the other side while the back end was still up in the air. Thankfully there was a winch mounted on the front of the Cherokee dubbed Candy Heart. It took but a second for Cindy to hook it up and drag the vehicle through.

The scraping sounds made as the vehicles dragged across the rocks made everyone cringe. Even Cindy, as she knew she'd be the one fixing the useless piece of junk back up. As bad as it had sounded little real damage was done. Aside from some major gouges to the bumpers, and nearly tearing the tailpipe off, the skid plates underneath had taken the brunt of the beating.

"There now," Annie exclaimed, happily slapping her thighs. "What d'ya say lads, let's get the rest of you loaded up and get moving."

Cindy laughed heartily. "Gonna be like packing God-damned sardines."

"Aye."

Daryl shuddered at the thought of being packed tightly into one of the jeeps with all these people. He liked it just fine when no one wanted to ride in the pick up truck with him. Liked it just fine riding Merle's bike on his own. When he was stuck in the Cherokee with the loud and mouthy blond named Cindy and most of the people who had been traveling in the Winnebago he felt trapped. Uncomfortably he crammed himself into the corner, leaning as much of his weight against the door as he was able to try and gain some much needed breathing room.

"Claustraphobic or something?" Cindy asked, glancing in the rear view mirror.

"Or sumthin'," Daryl muttered, his face twisted into a scowl.

Cindy chuckled and kept driving. Finally their guide in the blue jeep TJ turned down a very narrow path and the rest followed. It appeared to have been nothing more than an ATV trail at one point in time, and could hardly be called a road now. As it snaked it's way down the hill, it brought them steadily closer to the calm blue water of a lake. Then finally the darkness of the forest opened up and they saw it, Base Camp.

T-dog shook his head violently back and forth. "Aww hell no!" he objected loudly. "No one said anything about it being _on_ the water."

Just off the shore of the lake were three float cabins. They were simple structures: log beams and wood shingles topped with sheets of blue, sun-faded tin roofing. There were mis-matched doors and old, single-pane windows which had likely been salvaged when the former owners had upgraded to double-pane in their homes.

Each cabin was built on it's own float. Massive cedar logs some forty to sixty feet long were lashed together. The thick, braided-steel cable was rusted from years, possibly decades, in the water. Two by six lumber then planked the floats. Some pieces looked faded and worn, others as if they had been replaced more recently. Overall the cabins looked rugged and weathered but certainly still habitable. Certainly better than the accommodations to which Rick and his group had become accustomed.

"What'sa matter?" Daryl sneered, adjusting the crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Cantcha swim?"

"You racist Sonuvabitch," T-dog fumed as they walked down to the shore. "Just cause I'm black I can't swim? That it?"

Rick turned quietly to T-dog and asked, "Can you?"

They made their way to the one rickety dock that was tied loosely to a tree stump by the shore. It was the only way out to the float cabins. It would make for easy defense against Walkers. Just pull back the dock and watch as the Walker's stood helplessly at the shore. They could sit back and pick them off one at a time from a distance. If the reanimated corpses even wandered out this far.

T-dog huffed, stopping at the edge of the lake. "No," he admitted shamefully. "But that ain't the point, man."

Rick shook his head, and opened his mouth to speak, but just then a tiny, thin woman appeared from one of the cabins. Her wavy red hair hung down to the small of her back. "Hello," she greeted them, her hazel eyes looking the newcomers up and down. "My name is Jenna. Welcome to Base Camp."

"I'm Rick. You have no idea how happy we are to finally be here!"

Jenna's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Pardon?"

"We're the group from Georgia," Rick explained. "Once we lost contact on the radio we were so worried that we wouldn't be able to find you or that something had happened to your group."

"The radio?" Jenna asked.

"Yes," Rick replied quickly. "We were talking to one of your men. He said the Governor ran this community, can we talk to him?" A ball of dread was forming in the pit of Rick's stomach as the red-head stared back with a blank expression in her eyes.

"I see," Jenna said calmly. "There's just one little problem."

"What's that?"

"The people you were talking to on the radio," Jenna told them, "that wasn't us."

To be continued...

* * *

**This one got a little long. Sorry if it dragged on. It's just I started with the flashback to Jenna's life and wanted to finish with the group meeting her. I'd love to know your thoughts as I continue this. It's a very different endeavor for me than following the story line of the show andinserting my characters into events with some minor changes.**


	4. Too Good to be True

**A/N: Thank you all for the support and encouragement. I love it every time I open my email and see a little notification that someone has reviewed, favorited or followed. It totally makes my day.**

**PrefersFiction: Thanks :) I thought it would be fun to try something totally different.**

**PrintDust: You called it! Damn that was quick. I wanted to see how long it would be before someone recognized the area just by description. I was intentionally vague and avoided naming it. I also only mentioned one ferry, not two. I really didn't expect anyone to figure it out so soon. What was the detail that gave it away for you, if you don't mind me asking?**

**Leyshla Gisel: Jenna will definitely play a pivotal role in this story, which is why it was important to introduce her early. I can't say more than that for now ;)**

**Emberka-2012: Yes, this is another group. The Governor's group is somewhere near by. Expect some conflict in the not so distant future.**

**Piratejessieswaby: I'm glad you're enjoying it :)**

**Italics = flashbacks**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Too Good to be True**

_A loud crash reverberated through the Dixon's singlewide. The noise originated from the kitchen. It was the sound of dishes smashing on the floor, of pots and pans tumbling and smacking against the linoleum, of the table overturning. It was the sound of Mrs. Dixon being tossed from one hard surface to another. It was the sound of another fight._

_Little Daryl sat cross-legged on his bed with his hands over his ears. No matter how hard he pressed he couldn't muffle the sound of his mother sobbing and begging her husband to stop. No matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to shut out the world could he will it all away._

_Tears stung at his eyes, welling up and threatening to spill over. Hastily he wiped at his face with the back of his wrist. He wouldn't cry, he told himself. He couldn't cry. If his father heard him he would come for him next. Snot spilled from the young boy's nose and a sniveling little whimper escaped his throat. He was only six, he couldn't help it._

* * *

The night before had seemed surreal to the weary group of travelers. As they had arrived at Base Camp a tiny red-headed woman had come out to greet them. Her name was Jenna. "You've had a long and trying journey," she had told them. "Why don't you just relax for the night, fill your bellies, and tomorrow morning we can discuss how things work around here."

Daryl tensed, bristling at her words. His body reacted instantly, the muscles tightening in his shoulders. The woman spoke with the voice of authority and it sounded as if she were about to lay down the law. He wasn't about to be taking no orders, especially not from her.

As he surveyed his surroundings he noticed a pair of big green eyes peeking out at him from around the corner of the main cabin. They reminded him of someone, although he couldn't place it at the time. Locks of curly blond hair fell around the face of the child. When she realized that Daryl had spotted her the little girl gasped and disappeared.

Rick looked around. There were people milling about everywhere. They smiled and waved easily accepting twelve strangers into their camp. Rick wondered why he couldn't seem to do the same and let go of his sense of unease. Here they were, safer than they had ever been since the Wildfire outbreak. They were surrounded by the living yet there was a nagging feeling at the back of his skull that wouldn't let him settle in completely.

As he turned his attention from one member of his band of survivors to another he saw similar apprehension on all their faces. They should be happy, relieved, and they were to some extent anyhow. Still something wouldn't let them truly relax. It was if things were too good to be true and they were all just waiting for the curtain to fall.

After a restless night the group from Atlanta woke to the the hearty smell of cooking meat. It wafted in through the open windows of the cabin where they were holed up. There had been some last minute shuffling to accommodate everyone for the night.

"Mmm, something smells good," Lori said, stretching her arms above her head. It had been too long since they had seen real food and the soup they had been provided the night before had been both welcome and needed nourishment.

Dale, who had been sleeping across the other side of the loft grinned. "Someone pinch me," he beamed, catching Lori's gaze. He'd already pulled on his floppy hat and was headed down the ladder to the main floor and then outside to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Hurry up, dad," Carl whined. The boy didn't want to miss out.

Rick took in the sight of his boy, joy and ease spread across his face. Perhaps it was only the children, too young and naive to realize that everything came with a price, that could really let go and enjoy their new found good fortune.

Shane combed a hand through his messy dark hair. "If I were y'all I wouldn't go getting your hopes up," he cautioned everyone. The joy drained from Carl's face. Shane had noticed it too. Always, it was always Lori and Carl he was watching. "Just showing up like this. You don't all really think they're going to have enough food to go around now do you?" There was still bitterness in his voice as he considered the option of just taking what they needed by force.

"Shane's right," Rick said solemnly, missing the glances cast between his best friend and his family. "We can't expect them to keep feeding twelve strangers."

Yet when Rick and his band of survivors got downstairs and joined the others outside on the deck, that is exactly what they did. To their astonishment they were met by welcoming faces and plates of roasted meat and piles of juicy blackberries. They were treated to breakfast the same as anyone else at camp, simply accommodated without question.

Jenna tossed down some of the meat from breakfast into two bowls and whistled. A lanky young pup, maybe four or five months old at most came bounding over. Sophia and Carl's faces lit up as the pup hit the bowl running, nearly knocking it over in his excitement.

"Better hurry Chip, before Gauge gets yours too," someone called, laughing lightly.

An old, graying Doberman lumbered over lazily at the sound of his name being called. The barrel-chested animal looked big for his breed. Stopping to sniff at the food he then ignored it, staring out over the lake. There was a hazy-blue tint to his eyes, worsening with age. The dog had been Jenna's parent's. On her last trip in to try and sway them, he was all she'd found still alive in their old home. She couldn't just leave the dog.

"Things are very simple here," The red-headed woman explained as everyone trickled in with their food and settled down to discuss the newcomers and the days ahead of them. "We'd like to keep it that way."

Daryl kept his distance, leaning against the cabin wall far enough a way to keep himself separate, yet close enough to hear what was being said.

"Not much of a people person, are you?" A woman's voice boomed from behind him.

When Daryl turned he found Cindy, the woman who'd come and picked them up when the roads got too rough, standing there snickering at him. Immediately he noticed her big green eyes, just like the ones that had been peeking out at him from around the corner the night before. It couldn't be, she looked too young for the little girl to be hers.

Daryl grunted and turned his attention back to the camp meeting that was going on.

"There are only two rules," Jenna continued. "First: don't be a dick," she glanced around, her gaze lingering for a moment on those she had already sized up to be trouble.

Ed snorted dismissively as her gaze fell on him. There was no way he was going to be taking orders from a woman. Surely there had to be a man in charge around here somewhere.

"Second," Jenna continued her eyes still on Ed, "everyone contributes."

* * *

_Daryl's door cracked open. He almost cried out, fearing the worst, before he saw that it wasn't his father. It was Merle, his teenage brother, slipping through the crack and closing the door softly behind him._

_"Shh, Darylina," Merle hissed, placing a hand over his mouth. "Whatcha thinkin' little brother? Ya know ya gots ta be quiet else he's gonn' come up here lookin' fer ya," he warned._

_From the kitchen the sounds of crashing and banging still echoed down the hall. Though their mother's pleas had been reduced to nothing more than pained whimpers. Daryl buried his face into his brother's broad shoulder, smothering the sobs he could no longer hold back._

_"Best quit yer cryin' ya pansy. Yer sounding like a lil' girl. Ya gotta learn ta be a man," Merle told him, though he wrapped one big, strong arm around his brother's shoulder. "Whatcha gonn' do when I ain't 'round to watch out fer ya?"_

_Daryl snivled, but wiped away his tears._

* * *

Once the two basic rules of camp were established everyone went around introducing themselves.

"I'm Rick Grimes," Rick said, volunteering to go first. "This is my wife Lori and my boy Carl." He wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and ruffled his son's hair affectionately.

"What did you do before all this, Grimes?" A deep male voice asked. It was Jenna's husband Mitch Anderson, the man who had answered when Annie had first found them and radioed into base camp.

"I was a deputy," Rick answered. "Shane was my partner," he said nodding to his best friend.

Shane bowed his head, "Deputy Walsh at your service," he said, though his tone was bitter and sarcastic.

Mitch sized the two men up. "I take it you're both good with a gun then?" His question was met by a nod from both men. "That's good. We can always use more skilled marksmen."

"It doesn't seem like you'd get a lot of Walkers out here," Lori commented skeptically. How many marksmen could it take to keep the camp safe? Even if a Walker did come this far out it would be stuck on shore and easy to pick off. Mitch met her observation with a cold, hard stare.

"You already met Annie McGee and Jedediah yesterday during your unfortunate stand-off," Jenna commented, continuing around the circle.

"Jedediah?"

"Aye Jed," the Irish woman, Annie, chirped up, nodding to her silent partner from the day before. "Named by his parents after the great Jedediah Smith, mountain man and trapper extraordinaire, or so he claims."

The big burly man said nothing. He just nodded hidden away behind his mess of brown hair and his thick beard,

"Doesn't talk much," Annie chattered on, clearly the man's opposite. "Not since his wife died, poor bastard."

"Was it Walkers?" Carol asked meekly.

"Aye." Annie answered for the man.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Carol spoke to Jed. Her words were warm and heartfelt. He nodded in thanks, but said nothing. Ed shifted his weight, dagger in his eyes as he looked from his wife to the grieving man. So far as he was concerned, Carol wasn't allowed to talk to other men.

"I'm Carol. This is my husband Ed and my daughter Sophia."

"T-Dog."

"T-Dog," Mitch repeated. "That stand for something?"

"Theodore," the large black man replied. "But no one's called me that in a long time."

"Cindy Fowler," the tall, skinny blonde woman said with the voice that was too loud to come from her body. Her green eyes rolled as she spoke.

Daryl noted that she seemed almost as unimpressed as he was about the group meeting. Almost. After sneaking up behind him and snickering about his lack of people skills she had reluctantly gone and joined the others. He was still standing outside of the circle that had formed, watching but not participating.

"This is my daughter, Hope."

Daryl's ears perked up instantly. Those eyes, he should have known. Still she seemed too young. How old was that girl of hers that kept following him around, peeking out from the corners? Certainly no more than six or seven. Yet Cindy appeared not much older than twenty.

"There it is again," Dale commented flabbergasted. "Hope. That word keeps popping up everywhere we go."

"Jesus Dale," Shane scoffed impatiently. "It's just a coincidence."

"How many times has it shown up?" A dreamy, wistful voice asked. They'd later learn her name was Rain.

Shane turned his head to see a petite blonde, with wavy hair and big round breasts that were nearly falling out of the top she was wearing. It was a wonder she didn't fall over, he thought to himself. He let his dark eyes trail over her body, lustfully taking in every womanly curve.

"Twice," Dale answered, seeming not to notice the woman's blatant sex appeal. "First we were driving trying to get to the city of Hope. Now we arrived here and find this little one, Hope," he said gesturing to the child.

Rain cocked her head from one side to the other seeming both aloof and deep in thought simultaneously. "Sometimes the universe tries to send us messages," she told him. "If it shows up again, it would be unwise to choose to ignore it."

"You aren't really going to listen to this superstitious mumbo-jumbo are you?" Shane protested. Rain's blue eyes shot to him, causing Shane to turn a shade of red as he hastily averted his gaze from her chest.

"I don't claim to know all there is to know about the way the universe works," Dale replied, leaving open the possibility that it was more than just coincidence.

Cindy stood up and left, shooing her daughter along. They didn't need to be there listening to some debate whether or not her child was some sort of omen.

"I don't think anyone is going to be claiming to understand the way the universe works anymore, Dale," Andrea said bitterly still grieving the death of her sister. "I mean, a few months ago we all could have agreed that it was impossible for the dead to walk, but here we are, hiding out in this shit hole because everyone's dead and they've all come back to eat us."

"That's Andrea, by the way."

"A right bundle of joy, that one," Annie commented in her thick Irish accent.

"She lost her sister," Lori said softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry love. I didn't know," Annie apologized.

"That's her problem," Cindy spat as she passed Daryl. "Never thinks before she opens her big fucking mouth."

Daryl raised an eyebrow but said nothing as the mouthy young woman passed. She had attitude, and he had to respect that.

"What about you, lad?" Annie asked, turning to Glenn. "Never did catch yer name the other day love."

The young Korean man glanced up. "Glenn," he gulped. He didn't know what it was about the woman that made him so nervous, that made him stumble over his words. She must think he was such a loser.

"And what'd you do, love, before the whole world went sideways?"

"I was, uh, I delivered pizza." The older woman smiled at him, making him blush and turn away.

Jenna watched their new arrivals. Her hazel eyes were cool and calculating, always evaluating, always studying them. She tilted her head towards Daryl who was still lingering on the outskirts, "And that one?" she asked inquisitively.

"That," Rick told her, "is Daryl Dixon."

Jenna nodded thoughtfully. It seemed like she was making a mental note to herself. Daryl Dixon was one to keep an eye on. That redneck spelled potential trouble.

* * *

There was a lot of work to do around camp. Rick stared at the whiteboard posted on the door of the main cabin, the one Jenna had emerged from the evening they had first arrived. Anyone could add jobs they noted that needed to be done. If it was a priority, it was marked with a star.

"*Fix bridge on G.L. Main by Dodd.

Repair roof on firewood shed.

*New hoses for The Beast."

Rick scanned the list. That must have been the bridge Cindy was working on when Annie had called her off to give them a ride. On their way down to the lake he had also noticed that they had passed a jacked up black Chevy pickup parked off to the side in the bush. He wondered, thinking of the cute call names they'd given the other vehicles, if that was 'The Beast.'

"New goat pen.

Clean rabbit hutch.

*Restock firewood at lookout."

Rick found it curious how benign their list of duties seemed. It felt more like they had arrived at a dude ranch for a working holiday than that they were hunkering down to survive an invasion of the walking dead. Near the bottom of the list he noticed two hastily scrawled additions.

"*Fix washout at head of Haslam.

*Bring redneck's motorcycle to camp."

The former deputy smiled at the thoughtfulness of their new hosts. He thought it was sweet that whoever had written it, he figured it was Annie, had even starred retrieving Daryl's bike as a priority. Again, however, he was struck with that looming sense of unease. Things were too good to be true.

* * *

_It was damp and smelled of rotten wood and mold under the stairs to the singlewide. Daryl crouched in hiding, silently holding his breath. He could hear the thumping of his father's footsteps as he stomped angrily around searching for him._

_"Best git yer ass out here boy," His father bellowed angrily. "'Fore I knock yer ass into next week."_

_The steps above Daryl creaked under the weight of his father. Each step he took made Daryl's stomach churn with fear. They were so close he could swear he could hear the old man breathe, and feared his own breaths would similarly give him away. The young boy made himself as small as he could, trying to disappear into the shadows. This time he was on his own. Merle was on Juvie again and wouldn't be running out to save him._

_"If ya know what's good fer ya," Daryl's father hollered threateningly to the vacated streets of the trailer park after his missing son. No one stuck their heads out at the commotion. It was nothing new. They'd all just learned to turn a blind eye._

_As he trailed off Daryl's heart skipped a beat. In the silence he didn't know if his father was still standing right outside his hiding spot or if he'd continued away looking for him. Then, very suddenly, he got his answer as a hand wrapped tightly around his scrawny ankle hauling him unceremoniously from under the stairs._

_The boy's face stung as his father's fist connected without warning. He could smell the alcohol on his old man's breath. It was hot and sticky. Daryl gulped, trying to will back the oncoming tears, knowing that he would only beat him harder if he cried, but he was just a child. The blows kept coming, and the harder he cried, the worse they got until he finally collapsed on the ground._

_With one final kick to his son's ribs, Daryl's father looked down at him disgustedly. "Yer pathetic, boy. Ya ain't ever gonna be nothin'. Can't believe yer my own flesh an' blood. Always knew yer mother was a whore," he spat, his words slurred from the alcohol. "Prolly nothin' more 'an someone else's bastard son."_

* * *

Over the next few days everyone started to settle into the routine around camp. In the morning they got up and discussed any outstanding issues over breakfast. Then everyone parted ways, working, collecting food, or keeping watch duty throughout the day. In the evening they would reconvene for dinner and spend the rest of the night doing their own thing.

It was more rigid of a routine than they were used to, but it was simple and efficient. It worked. There was food. They had two meals a day, every day, and there was always a pot of soup and a pot of tea on the wood stove. Everyone was managing with it, even Daryl though it was more from habit than any desire to follow direction. Still, he could go out and hunt all day so he didn't have to interact with the others and everyone got along just fine.

Everyone except for Ed. Since they'd got there the pot-bellied man had done nothing more than sit on his ass, bark orders at his wife, and drink the last of his beer. It was clear, that his behavior was starting to grate on their hosts.

"Everybody contributes," Jenna reminded him, yet again.

"Ain't no hunter," Ed retorted.

"That's fine. There's still berries to be picked. There's gardens to tend to. Annie can show you what needs to be done."

Ed snickered. "Berry picking? Gardening? That's women's work."

A spark of anger flashed in the red-head's eyes but she remained cool and collected when she spoke. "Have it your way," she said calmly. "You don't want to work, don't work. But you're on your own."

That night when everyone gathered for dinner, Ed wasn't served with the rest of them. Some nervous glances were cast as the rest of Rick's band hoped that Ed wouldn't wear out their welcome with his behavior. The man glared, his face contorting with anger and the embarrassment of being shown up by a woman.

"That's one bitch he don't want to mess with," Cindy commented to no one in particular. The woman was laughing to herself as if she hoped he would, There was no effort made on her part to disguise the loathing she felt for the lazy, sexist pig.

Ed wasn't about to let some woman dictate to him what he could and couldn't do. They didn't want to feed him, fine. They'd feed his wife and child. They weren't about to punish them for his behavior. So, in a bid to outsmart them he took the food from his own family.

Jenna had been keeping an eye on Ed from the corner of her eye. She shook her head disappointedly. If he was going to play games he was going to lose. Without a word she walked over, knocking the plate of food from his hands. For Rick and his group had so long gone without they watched wide-eyed as the food landed in the water, sinking into the darkness, lost forever.

Ed lost it, picking the tiny woman up and slamming her into the wall of the main cabin.

"Ed, don't," Carol pleaded.

"Someone do something," Lori gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth.

Cindy snorted loudly, folding her skinny arms across her chest. She might as well have a bag of popcorn the way she was watching the show unfold. "That girl can take care of herself."

Ed looked down. Everyone's gaze followed his as it lowered. The man's demeanor changed rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. The blade of the knife Jenna held calmly to his balls looked razor sharp. The woman was so cool and collected that despite her small stature she was terrifying.

"I told you, if you don't want to contribute, you're on your own." Her hazel eyes never left his face as she spoke. Ed released his grip on the woman, placing her back down on the solid wood planks of the deck.

"I'm sorry about his behavior," Rick said apologetically.

Jenna straightened herself out and turned to Rick. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Ed's responsible for his own behavior," she assured him. "Besides," the red-head continued with a lack of concern that sent chills down their spines. "These things have a way of sorting themselves out."


	5. Curtain Falls

**Notes: Again, thank you all for taking the time to review.**

**Leyshla Gisel: I don't think it'll be too hard to pinpoint after this chapter. I'm sorry for the bit of confusion by introducing Jenna so quickly. I wanted to incorporate the flashbacks because we don't get to find out much about the characters lives before the Walkers.**

**PrintDust: Nope, it didn't ruin a surprise. I just didn't expect anyone to recognize it so quickly.**

**Emberka-2012: I'm glad you like them.**

**Piratejessieswaby: I'm glad you like Jenna. I wanted a strong female leading the camp. It's sadly, not going to be her and Daryl, though. I had considered it. I really do like her character. It just didn't work with the story I want to tell.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Curtain Falls**

_It was a sunny, mid-summer afternoon. Carol spun, the light cotton dress she wore flared out just below her knees. A glowing, genuine smile spread across her face as she turned to her friend Sue._

_"What do you think?" She asked, a girlish innocence in the giggle that followed._

_Sue flashed a more mischievous grin back. They were going on a double date that evening. Sue was hooking her up on a blind date with one of her boyfriend's friends. "I think," Sue said, pausing for dramatic effect, "that Eddie isn't going to be able to keep his hands off you."_

_Carol gasped in mock indignation and slapped her friend on the shoulder. "Sue!" The two young ladies broke down into a fit of laughter before rushing out the door to meet their men at the roller rink._

* * *

Rick smiled as he walked up to his wife. Her dark hair hung loosely, framing her face as she worked. He couldn't help but think how sexy she was, even in a pair of jeans and a baggy shirt. All the years that had passed and he'd never stopped loving her, never found her any less beautiful than the day he'd met her. If only he could find the words to tell her.

Rick sighed, as Lori laid down the shirt she was folding and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. That's when she looked up, her eyes meeting his, and smiled back. In that moment he almost lost his nerve. The guilt he felt for what he was about to say, when he'd already lost her and Carl once, was heavy on his heart.

"I've been thinking about the other group of survivors out there somewhere," Rick started. He traced a finger lightly along his wife's jawline, stopping and letting it rest at her chin. His eyes held hers pleadingly as he waited for her response.

Lori looked away. She knew her husband. He was always running off to help others in need. "What about them?" she asked, knowing she didn't want to hear the answer.

"They're out there somewhere, not far from here. We haven't heard from them in a while. They could be in trouble."

Lori placed her hands on her hips, looking her husband sternly in the eye. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Asking," Rick told her, cocking his head to the side and looking at her with those big puppy dog eyes. "I'm asking."

Lori threw her hands up in exasperation. "Well I think it's crazy!" she exclaimed. "We only just got here," she protested. They were happy here, her and Carl. Safe. They could settle down and be a family again.

"They're out there, Lori. They might need our help."

Lori shook her head slowly. That was her husband. To protect and to serve, even now with the dead walking the earth.

* * *

Daryl worked his way through the dense woods. The temperate rainforest of coastal BC was different than anything he was used to. The trees towered above him. Below them, the underbrush was thick, leaving him wading waste deep through bracken ferns and salal. Visibility was practically non-existent. He had no idea how anyone was supposed to hunt in this mess.

That's when he heard it. The crack of a twig snapping behind him. Daryl's pulse quickened as he whirled around, raising his crossbow in the direction of the noise with one fluid, well-practiced motion. A pair of big green eyes stared widely at him.

"Damnit kid," Daryl growled, lowering his weapon. "Ya shouldn't be out here. Where's yer momma?"

Hope kept staring at him, her eyes as wide as saucers. She raised a tiny little finger and pointed back the way they'd come.

"She back at camp?" Daryl asked. The child nodded silently.

Daryl grumbled miserably, cursing under his breath. He couldn't just leave her out here in the woods by herself. Reluctantly, he took the child by her small hand and started leading her through the woods back towards camp.

The dense, dark forest opened up as Daryl reached the edge of the lake with Hope. The moss-covered floor of pine needles gave way to the rocky shore. As he led the child by the hand, it occurred to Daryl that she hadn't said a word to him. In fact, he couldn't recall hearing her speak since they'd arrived here. He wondered briefly if she was mute or something.

The hunter scanned quickly, looking for the little girl's mother. Then he caught a glimpse of the tall, tattooed blonde in a small clearing on the road down to the shore. She was working on the Peletier's station wagon. As she bent over, her worn jeans clung tightly to her perfect, heart-shaped ass. The woman hadn't an ounce of fat anywhere, nothing but skin and bones, except for her nicely rounded butt.

To Daryl's embarrassment he found he'd been caught staring by the little girl he was trying to return. He flushed, and cleared his throat reflexively. At least the girl was too young to realize what he'd been thinking about doinh with her momma.

"C'mon," Daryl said gruffly, tugging the child toward Cindy's work station. "Let's go."

As Daryl got closer to the woman his pulse quickened. Her blond hair was tied back in a messy pony tail. The sleeves of the blue, plaid work shirt she wore were rolled up to her elbows. Her pale skin, where it wasn't covered in brightly colored tattoos, was covered thick with grease. Absently, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a black smudge across her face.

Cindy may not have been Daryl's type. She was too skinny, too tall, too loud. But right there in that moment, the woman standing in front of him was the sexiest damn woman alive. Hell, she was the sexiest woman he'd ever seen, even before the zombie apocalypse.

Daryl swallowed hard, trying to push down any feelings of desire he had towards the woman as he approached. It wasn't easy. He could feel his blood flow redirecting at the sight of her all dirty from underneath the car. Cindy however, hadn't even noticed him. Her attention was entirely devoted to the station wagon she was working on.

After a moment's hesitation Daryl grunted to get the woman's attention. Cindy looked up and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. Seeing the stranger with her daughter, she scowled.

"Found her out in the woods," Daryl said gruffly, "followed me."

"Damnit Hope!" Cindy exclaimed in frustration as she wiped her greasy hands on the leg of her pants. "How many times have I told you not to leave the floats?"

Despite her words, and the frustration in her voice, Daryl saw something aside from anger when he looked into the mother's face. He saw worry, and concern. He saw guilt. Things he'd never experienced from his own parents. Not even when he'd been lost in the woods alone for days on end.

The little girl twirled her toe along the wooden planks bashfully. Whatever she did, she refused to look up to where she would be forced to meet her mothers stern gaze. "But mommy..."

"Don't you but mommy me," Cindy barked. "It's dangerous out there!" Daryl couldn't miss the fear underlying her anger with her daughter.

A big crocodile tear rolled down the child's face. "I'm sorry mommy."

The mother's demeanor softened as she exhaled. Cindy couldn't stay mad at her little girl for long. "It's ok, I love you," she said as she bent down and planted a kiss on the top of Hope's blond head. "But from now on, you stay on the floats. Got it?"

The little girl nodded furiously, trying to fight back tears. When the wavy-haired brown puppy ran by it was the perfect excuse to get away from her mother's disappointment and anger. Hope tore off after the pup, crossing the dock to the first float and disappearing around the corner of a cabin leaving Cindy and Daryl alone on the shore.

Cindy stood up. Her long legs placed her almost as tall as Daryl. "Kids, eh?" she snorted. "Sorry if she was a pain in the ass. She's just curious about you new people."

Daryl glanced awkwardly at the ground. "It was no bother."

* * *

_There were butterflies in her stomach as Carol smoothed the front of her night gown. There was something else in there too, she thought, picturing the baby growing inside of her. A small smile formed on her lips. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, her eyes lingering on her belly which had not yet begun to show, and turned to make her way to the living room where she would find her husband._

_Ed was sitting on the couch in a sweat-stained wife-beater and pair of boxers. There was a can of cheap beer in his hand and three more laying empty on the floor. He hadn't been like this when they'd met. Carol recalled how sweet and funny he'd been, how he'd swept her off her feet, literally, at the roller rink. Somewhere inside was the Ed she'd fallen in love with. Maybe the baby would bring him back to her._

_"Ed," Carol called, sitting down next to him on the couch. "We need to talk."_

_"Not now," Ed said dismissively, his eyes never leaving the small TV set with the bunny ear antennae. "Can'tch ya see the game's on?"_

_"Ed..."_

_"Damn it woman, I said not now."_

_"Ed, I'm pregnant."_

_It took a moment for her words to set in. Ed finally picked up the remote and turned the TV set off, turning to face his wife. "You're...?"_

_Carol nodded, her smile widening as she saw a spark of that life she used to know in his eyes._

_The man was dumbstruck, but there was also an excitement showing on his face. Something she hadn't seen in a long time. He was happy. "Ya mean, we're...?"_

_"We're going to have a baby."_

* * *

Apparently the effects of Ed's encounter with Jenna had been short lived. The slovenly man was back to his old routine of sitting around on his lazy ass and barking orders at his wife.

"I'm hungry," Ed told his wife, waiting expectantly. "Get me some food."

Carol hesitated, afraid of brining down his wrath. "They won't give me any food for you," she told him. Like the days before, Ed had failed to do his part. He'd failed to contribute, with what he felt was women's work.

"They'll give you and her some though, now wont they," Ed insinuated, jabbing his chin in the direction of his daughter. She was playing Go Fish with Carl and Hope.

"Ed, I can't," Carol could barely force the words from her mouth. "Not Sophia's. She's gone without too many times. You can have mine."

In his hand, Ed held up a bottle of wine he had found in one of the cabins. The dark purple liquid of the blackberry wine sloshed over the top of the bottle. "Ain't like these people don't got 'nuff to go 'round."

Rick had been watching the exchange out of the corner of his eye. Ed had already jeopardized their welcome in the camp once. Trying to be discrete, Rick walked over to the drunken pig. "That's not our stuff to be digging through," Rick told him in a forced whisper. "We're guests here."

The look Ed shot at the deputy was obstinate and challenging. He said nothing, just tipped the bottle back and took a long drink. It was a dare for the other man to try and do anything about it. He was drunk and looking for a fight.

Andrea shot Ed a look of disgust that was mirrored on the faces of the others sitting out on the deck that evening. Of course, she'd never liked him, it was only circumstance that had forced them to band together under the same group.

Oblivious the the scathing looks surrounding him, Ed stood up. As he took a step he stumbled from the wine he'd been indulging in.

"Where ya going, Ed?" Shane demanded.

Ed turned to him, reaching a hand down to the zipper of his jeans. "To take a piss. Ya gotta problem with that?"

* * *

After returning Hope to her mother, Daryl had gone out to give the temperate rainforest another try. He'd worked his way through the tangled undergrowth, bush whacking through salal and ferns, climbing over the rotting, moss covered fallen trees until finally he had emerged on top of the ridge. There was an old logging road that was easily travelled and at least gave him line of sight a reasonable distance.

Though he had travelled miles down the dirt road, he'd seen no game. Plenty of game trails where deer crossed the road back and forth, moving from the tender shoots growing in the cut blocks, downhill to their water sources. There was game around, and even though he was going back empty handed tonight, given time he would bring back some venison.

As Daryl stepped foot onto the wood planks of the dock that connected the floating camp to the shore, he spotted Cindy two floats away. Ed was dogging behind her with the stumbling gait of a drunken man. A string of lewd comments were pouring from his mouth, their syllables slurred.

Just keep walking, Daryl told himself. She wasn't his problem. Guilt and shame contorted his face as he looked uncomfortably at the ground. Peering up with one squinted eye he looked again to the scene across at the next cabin.

Cindy spun around, facing the pot-bellied man that was harassing her. "God almighty, are you really that pathetic? You men are all alike. You got a wife back there and here you are trying to grab my ass."

Ed replied, but his words were too slurred for Daryl to make out what he said from the distance at which he was watching the exchange.

"Not if you were the last man on earth," Cindy informed him. "You fat, disgusting, alcoholic, ass-maggot."

"Best talk nicer to me," Ed warned her.

Cindy snorted. "Like hell, mother fucker. That'll be the day hell freezes over."

Ed reached a hand out, groping at the woman's chest. "Who needs a handful," he slurred, "when a mouthful's enough."

"I'll give you a mouthful," Cindy snapped, drawing back her arm ready to take a swing at the bastard. Ed easily caught her bony wrist in his hand.

"Damn it," Daryl muttered under his breath. He couldn't just walk away. His pace quickened as he made his way to the second float.

With her free hand, Cindy tried to push Ed away. "leave me the hell alone you ..."

The sting of Ed's backhand cut her sentence short. Before Cindy knew what was happening, Ed had her pinned against the outside wall of the cabin. His large body pressing firmly up against hers. A hand came up to her mouth muffling her scream.

Daryl didn't make a sound as he came up behind Ed. Lifting his crossbow, he brought the weight of it down, smacking the asshole in the back of the head with the butt end of the weapon. Ed's body crumpled into a heap on the wooden deck.

Daryl saw the fear in Cindy's eyes for that moment before she realized what had happened. Then it melted, and her big green eyes flooded with relief.

"Ya alright?" Daryl asked in his gruff voice.

* * *

_There was a desperate intensity with which Carol dug through the contents of her drawers, flinging this and that toward the suitcase laying open on the bed. Ed would be home in an hour and they weren't going to be here when he got back. Enough was enough, she thought, catching a glimpse of her blackened face in the mirror above the dresser._

_With trembling fingers she picked up the phone and dialed her mother. They hadn't spoken in years._

_"Mom?"_

_"Carol, is that you?" The voice on the other end asked. She was a little hard of hearing._

_Carol sniffed, wiping away the tears in her eyes. "Yes. Yes, mom, it's me."_

_"You never call me. What do you want now?"_

_Crying the entire time Carol explained to her mother how things had become with Ed. Over the years he had become more and more controlling, more and more abusive. Things had changed for a while when Sophia had been born, but it hadn't lasted._

_"I'm leaving him," Carol explained. "Sophia and I, we need some place to stay. We don't have any where to go."_

_There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "I hope you weren't planning on coming here. You made your bed," her mother said coldly. "Now lay in it."_

* * *

In the morning Rick approached Jenna to discuss his plan to search for the other group of survivors. Glenn stood off to the side, nervously spinning his ball cap on top of his head. He was going with Rick too, and Jenna's reaction didn't exactly instill confidence and a sense of well-being in him.

"I'd just leave it be if I were you," Jenna warned.

"Why would you say that?"

"The people you're looking for," she said , "well lets just say they're not nice people."

"You've run into them before?"

"No."

"Then how can you know they are bad people?"

"I've heard stories," Jenna told him. Though when Rick pushed she wouldn't elaborate.

"Sometimes stories are just stories," Rick said. In the world they'd found themselves it might not hurt to spread a few rumors to keep those who might try to take advantage of you away. If none of them had actually had an experience with these others and none of them could say what the actual issue was then there was no basis to believe they weren't decent people.

Jenna watched Rick's face as he worked through his thoughts with idle curiosity. "You're still going to go looking for them," she stated, reading his expression.

"I have to," Rick told her.

A community, the man on the radio had called it. That didn't sound so bad. With the battle for survival raging between the living and the dead, the living had to band together now. There were others out there, and Rick wanted to find them. He needed to find them and know if they were alright. After all, if it wasn't for the Governor's people, Rick and his group of survivors never would have made it to this place.

"Take the canoes," Jenna said with a shrug. "Annie can show you the way to the moorage. It's not far from here. But you'll be on your own from there."

Rick nodded in understanding. He was grateful for any help at all. These people owed him nothing. "Thank you."

Annie had agreed easily enough to go out in the canoes and show Rick and Glenn the way further down the lake. It was a quicker, safer way to get to town so long as there wasn't too much you planned to bring back. They'd left early, taking their breakfasts with them, to give Rick as much day light as possible to perform his search. TheWTO men shared a canoe while she took her own. One after the other they paddled down the lake.

"There's a couple of bicycles tucked behind that building o'er there, love," Annie pointed as they ran the canoes up on shore. "In case you lads can't hot wire yourself a ride. Most of these cars have been siphoned already." With that she left them there and took her own canoe back to base camp. Rick and Glenn were on their own.

* * *

Back at base camp everyone else was starting to trickle out of the cabins in anticipation of a hot meal. Smiles and laughs were exchanged as they settled down with their food to discuss the plan for the day. The children took theirs and ran off to play, chasing after the dogs and each other.

Moods were positive and spirits were high until the morning was interrupted by a blood curdling scream. The voice belonged to Carl.

Lori leaped to her feet, spilling the plate of food she'd been eating from to the ground. "Carl?" she screamed, her voice frantic. "Carl!"

"Mom!" came back thr distraught and scared voice of her son.

Lori rounded the corner of the cabin, arriving at her son first and taking him into her arms. The others followed right behind her. "Carl, are you alright?" Lori asked, fussing over him, turning his head this way and that looking for scratches or bite marks. "What happened?"

Carl reached an arm out and pointed to the water. Everyone's eyes followed the direction of his finger, settling on the drowned body floating in the water. It was Ed.

* * *

**Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think! :)**


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